


Fox on the Run

by moony143



Series: Hooked on a Feeling [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Being a space pirate is dangerous man, Big boys do cry, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't Tell Me Men Don't Cry, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Peter gets hurt a lot, Pre-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Rimming, Stakar/Peter - Father-Son relationship, Swearing, They're both badasses though, Yondu gets hurt a lot, it's complicated - Freeform, some spanking too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 11:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 71,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moony143/pseuds/moony143
Summary: In an effort to soothe his conscience, to right Yondu's wrongs, Stakar Ogord intervenes before Yondu can pick a young Peter Quill up on Earth. He raises Peter as his own, his son and one of his Ravagers, and Peter's life is irrevocably changed. Twelve years later a bitter rivalry between Peter and one of the Ravagers leads to Peter's exile, and Peter joins up with the dangerous outlaw captain, Yondu Udonta.Or, an AU in which Peter was raised by another man, and when he meets Yondu he finds himself inexplicably drawn to the prickly captain. This is the story of their relationship before Peter met the Guardians, a story about Peter's slow descent into a wildly inappropriate first love, and what led to his eventual betrayal of the Ravagers.





	1. Ooh, Child

**Author's Note:**

> So here's this thing I did... It's likely going to extend into at least the first movie, an exploration on how different the events might have been had Peter's relationship with Yondu been different.

Peter was six when his world shattered. 

Six when he watched his mom's life fade out of her kind, beautiful eyes.

Six when he knew his first real regret, when he knew he would never ever forget not taking his mother's hand when it was offered to him. 

He was six when he ran out of that hospital, clutching his hands to his chest because he had never felt such unbelievable hurt. 

He was six, too, when his eyes were assaulted with a blinding white light and his life was irrevocably changed.

The blinding light receded, and Peter, heart racing already, knew fear as he’d never known it before when he looked up to see himself surrounded by terrifying creatures. Tentacled beasts, people with razor sharp teeth, half-men half-robots, people with scales and people with scars so hideous they made the monsters Peter imagined under his bed look like stuffed animals; all of these creatures surrounded him screeching and jeering in weird languages, and Peter thought his heart was going to stop. 

He pulled himself from the metal grating on the floor and yanked on one of the tentacles protruding from the nearest creature’s face, causing the thing to shriek in pain and giving Peter the opportunity he needed to make his escape. He didn’t know where to go, was so terrified he could barely take stock of his surroundings, but he did know that he needed out. The clank of his sneakers on metal floors was deafening. He dashed down one hallway, made a sharp left, ran, ran, until he was forced to skid to a halt when he found himself at a dead end. Thinking quickly, his eyes darted around the hallway looking for another means of escape. He could hear garbled shouts and pounding footsteps approaching. 

There! Up in the ceiling he spotted a vent. He grabbed the nearest thing to him, some kind of pipe, and scrambled up, up until he was high enough to push in the metal grating and pull himself inside. He replaced the cover just in time, too, and had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep himself from breathing too audibly as a gaggle of angry looking creatures spilled into the hallway. Thank god none of them looked up, and as they dashed back the other way Peter let out a shaky breath and started making his way through the ventilation system. 

He found a dark corner to huddle in and allowed himself a few minutes to cry, from pain over his mother’s death, from loneliness, from agonizing fear of the situation he found himself in. Sniffling, he put on his orange headphones and took a deep breath, finding the song he wanted and soothing himself to the melodic tune of the Five Stairsteps. 

By the time the song was over he had calmed, tears drying on his little face. He clenched his fists and stowed his music back in his backpack, determination steeling his young nerves. Would Rocky go out without a fight like this? Would Han Solo sit and cry as aliens tracked him down to eat him alive? No! Of course not! And neither would Peter. 

He spent a few hours crawling silently through the vents, taking stock of his surroundings by peering down into the rooms below. He knew he’d found his chance for escape when he found a hangar with lots and lots of small spaceship looking things. There were a couple of people sitting at a table in the room playing some sort of holographic game, a violently pink man and a bald little scaly guy with deep ridges in his skull. Peter grinned and made his way back the way he’d come, tracing his steps back to what had looked like some sort of weapons room. 

When he found the room again (after only one wrong turn) he checked to make sure there was no one in the area before popping out the vent cover, swinging himself over and clutching onto a pipe to shimmy down. He had no idea what any of the weapons did, but there was a weird gun looking thing that looked promising, so he snatched it up. The weight was more than he had bargained for, but after a little stumble he was able to heft it over his shoulder with one hand. He grinned as he tucked it into the open zipper of his bag. It stuck out a little, but it was enough so he could manage to climb back up the pipe and into the vents again. 

He had to remin himself multiple times to slow down and be quiet as he made his way back to the hangar, excitement making his movements louder, more hurried. When he finally reached the room in question again he pulled back the vent cover, silent as a whisper, and took his aim. It was only as the volley of electricity left the gun that he realized he had never shot anything before outside of an arcade game and his aim was truly terrible. The shot whizzed right over the creatures’ heads, and as their inhuman eyes whipped up to meet his he felt his grin fail. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbled before fumbling the gun into place and taking aim again. The pink guy was talking into some kind of device on the wall, never taking his eyes off of Peter, and the scaly guy was pulling out a weapon of his own, sharp toothy grin firmly in place. 

His next shot didn’t hit his target, either, but it did hit something flammable, and the blast from the relatively small explosion sent both men flying. Peter had no time to climb down, so he dropped, landing with a roll and jumping to his feet as alarms began to screech through the room. He very nearly made it to the ship, could almost feel the cool metal under his fingertips, felt his heart soar in victory. It never occured to his young mind that he would have absolutely no clue what to do once he reached it. He was too wild with fear, and his head had been filled his whole life with heroic adventures and impossible escapades. At the last second something grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and yanked him off his feet. His heart dropped, and he was dragged backwards, kicking and screaming and clawing at the air like a wild animal. 

There were voices babbling around him again, so many voices making so many noises his head was spinning. He felt himself pulled into a leather clad chest, saw a thick arm wrap around his torso and lock his arms in place. His chest was heaving and frustrated tears were rolling down his face, leaking from his tightly shut eyelids against his will. He was too terrified, even, to cry out when he felt a sharp pinch behind his ear, too scared to do anything but kick at the legs behind him fruitlessly. 

“Alright, alright, calm down kid.” 

Peter stilled instantly as the chest he was pressed against vibrated with the deep baritone voice. English! Whoever was holding him was speaking English! In fact, when the shock of the familiar words brought his mind crashing into reality he realized that all of the creatures now seemed to be speaking English. He rubbed at the place behind his ear that had been pinched and wondered if that had anything to do with his sudden comprehension. 

“There you go, just breathe little guy, I ain’t gonna hurt you,” the voice mumbled. Peter still refused to open his eyes, but hearing something familiar helped to calm his panic slightly. 

“W-what do you want from me?” he asked, gathering all of the remaining courage he had to make his voice somewhat stable. 

“Well, for starters, I’d like you to stop trying to blow up my ship.” 

Peter opened his eyes finally when he was placed on his feet and turned, big strong hands still locking his arms in place. The guy in front of him looked human, and Peter let out a shaky breath. He focused solely on the tan face, the black wavy hair, the chocolate brown eyes. If he ignored the aliens all around he found he could focus a little better, could think of questions he should be asking now that he could understand someone. 

“Please, sir, please don’t hurt me,” Peter mumbled, hot wet tears still leaking down his face. 

“I told you I ain’t gonna hurt you. No one else is going to, either.” He let go of Peter’s arms and stood, pulling the kid into his side in a gesture Peter recognized as protective. “Come on, boy, let’s go have a chat.” 

Sniffling, Peter allowed himself to be pulled out of the room, staring at his feet instead of the other creatures on the ship. They walked down hallways that all looked the same to Peter until they reached a big metal door. A quick scan of the man’s hand had the door sliding open to reveal a sort of bedroom/office area. Peter breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind them and they were alone. He didn’t protest as the man led him over to the big bed and sat him down, pulling up a chair so he could sit in front of the scared little boy. 

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” Peter asked, wiping the tears and snot off his face with his sleeve. 

“My name is Stakar Ogord. I’m a ravager captain, and I don’t want anything from you,” the man said, folding his arms over his barrel chest and leaning back in the chair. 

“Why did you take me from my home then?” 

Stakar looked away. “It’s complicated, but just know that if I hadn’t taken you someone worse was going to. It may not seem like it, but I just saved your life.”

Peter shivered, realizing suddenly that he was very, very cold. Stakar noticed, apparently, and got up to rifle through a drawer. He returned bearing a large black coat with a little flame emblem embedded on the shoulder. Peter didn’t take it. He was stubborn, and still terrified, and didn’t want to accept anything from his kidnapper. 

“Can you take me home now?” 

Stakar sighed, leaning over to wrap Peter in the coat anyway. It was huge, dwarfing the little kid by quite a bit. “I can’t do that, but I can give you a choice.”

Peter buried his nose in the coat, grateful for the warmth despite his stubbornness. His voice was muffled when he spoke next. “Why can’t you take me home?” 

He felt the bed dip beside him, felt a tentative arm wrap around his little shoulders. “The man who’s after you… He doesn’t know that I have you. He can’t find you here, but he would most certainly find you on Earth. I know this is scary, but if he finds you I promise something much scarier will happen to you.” 

Peter was young, had just lost the only family he had, had been thrust into such an unfamiliar situation that he felt like he was drowning. The big reassuring arm around his shoulders, the side he subconsciously lent into, they felt like anchors in a sea of terrifyingly unfamiliar things. He had no reason to trust this guy, but he found that, inexplicably, he did. “What’s my choice?”

“You’re scrappy. I like that. You can stay with me on this ship, become one of my ravagers. You’ll live a good life, full of adventure. Being a ravager is fun. There are next to no rules to follow, we do what we want, take what we want, be who we want. I can help you grow into one of us. You’ve got potential.” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder reassuringly. “We don’t take kids against their will, though. If you don't want to stay with me then I'll drop you off on a planet far from yours. It’ll be different, nothing like the life you’re familiar with. There’s orphanages. I don’t know how often people adopt Terran kids, but… Well, it’s a shot at a somewhat normal life. The choice is yours, kid.” 

Peter didn’t have to think hard about his decision. Adventure or an orphanage? He’d already lost the only person who had ever meant anything to him. Even if he could be adopted, he didn’t want another mother. No one could ever replace the most wonderful woman in the galaxy, and he knew then that he didn’t want to give anyone the chance to try. He sniffled and sat up straight, looking Stakar Ogord straight in the eye. 

He was small, made to look smaller in the giant coat and sitting next to the very large man, but the ferocity in his eyes made him seem bigger. “I choose to stay here.” 

Stakar grinned, ruffling the mop of ginger hair. “Welcome to the ravagers, kid.” 

 

Ravagers started young, but not so young as Peter, and so Stakar kept Peter as he would his own child, kept him away from the raids and the dangerous missions. Peter never forgot his family, was never seen without the dingy little walkman his mom had gifted to him, but he also gained a sense of home with Stakar. He had never known his father, had never been close to anyone but his mother, and while Stakar was not kind, was gruff and broody, and hard on Peter like he was on all of his crew, he also taught Peter to fly. He taught Peter how to fight, taught him how to work his way out of inevitable sticky situations. He taught Peter how to shave, and once, in a moment that would scar Peter for the rest of his life, tried to very awkwardly teach him about inter-species sexual relations. 

Peter grew up running around the ship, teasing the bridge crew, stealing from anyone who was dumb enough to let their guard down around the little wild ginger haired Terran. One time, when Peter was ten, he had snuck into the bunks where the rest of the crew slept (he slept in a little cabin off the side of Stakar's room, deemed too young to be sleeping in the messy dog pile of the rest of the crew) and stole Talon's metal eye right out of his head. Clutching his trophy in gleeful victory, he dashed out of the room and into the ventilation system. When Talon woke twenty minutes later, Peter's wheezing laughter was drowned out by the Achernonian's enraged screech. 

Tears of mirth were still streaming down his face when, five minutes later, Stakar found him tossing the eye in the air like a grotesque little baseball. The man raised one dark eyebrow at his charge, and Peter halted his game of catch. "So. Stole his eye, did ya?" 

"Well," Peter started slowly, the sudden tension in his shoulders from the arrival of the formidable captain easing when he wasn't immediately blasted. "Don't you think he should be a little more on his game? I mean, really, if a ten-year-old Terran can steal his eye right out of his socket maybe he should work on being a little less shitty of a pirate." 

The sudden sharp bark of laughter from his captain had him grinning a toothy little grin, and he knew by the way Stakar looked at him that he was kind of proud. Peter stood, rolling the eye between his hands, and made his way over so he could stand looking up at Stakar. The captain clapped him on the shoulder in a rare gift of affection and started guiding him out the door. "Alright, you little shit, that was pretty funny. But you need to give him his eye back before he rips the ship apart trying to get to you." 

Peter was plucky, sure, but even he was a little afraid of the repercussions of his actions. He gulped, hoping it wasn't too audible, and clutched the eye to his chest. "Um. Can't you give it to him?" 

Stakar laughed again, deep and throaty. "Hell no, kid. You wanna be a ravager, you gotta own up to the shit you pull." 

Much as he talked about Peter facing his own consequences, no one was going to hurt the kid with Stakar standing behind his back, massive arms crossed over his chest and glaring in warning. As horrendously angry as Talon was, when Peter handed him back his eye he took one look at his captain and grit his teeth, snatching the eye without a word and striding off in a huff. Peter, cocky grin forming on his little face, couldn't resist one more jab. "Hey, Talon! Remember, you gotta sleep with one eye open when you're a ravager!" 

Talon stopped and clenched his fists as the rest of the crew who had gathered around to watch the exchange howled in laughter. The Achernonian shook his head and popped his eye back in before continuing his trudge off the deck, and Peter crossed his little arms in imitation of his caretaker. 

Later that day, Peter found a small earpiece which, when he popped it behind his ear and pressed a button, expanded into a wicked mask. It was unwrapped and lacking any kind of note, but it was resting on his pillow and he knew without having to ask that it was Stakar who had given it to him.

\----------------------------------------

Like all young ravagers, Peter started going on actual missions when he was fourteen. While he had gone on scouting missions, and even a few low-risk heists, he was mostly confined to the ship while everyone else took on the more dangerous tasks. This day, though, two days after his birthday, Peter was finally allowed to see some real action. He tagged along close to Stakar's side, willing his limbs to stop shaking, as their rickety craft of pirates prepared to board the massive pleasure cruise vessel. 

"Cool it, kid! I can feel my own damn boots quaking you're shaking so damn much," Stakar hissed, invalidating his harsh words with a reassuring squeeze to Peter's shoulder. "It'll be fine, squirt. You're a natural ravager, remember?" 

Peter took a deep breath and steadied his limbs just in time for the soft snick of the ship locking onto the cruiser. Stakar ruffled his hair in a way that was just this side of too hard to be affectionate and pushed the button to release his mask. Peter and the others followed suit, Stakar gave one final nod to his buzzing crew, and then the doors opened and Peter had no more time for thinking. 

The crew always came back from missions like this grinning, hands and pockets full of gems and other riches, high on adrenaline and in excellent spirits. Peter had never understood their euphoria, but as his steel-toed boot connected with the chest of a truly pathetic excuse for a guard and sent him careening into a wall, Peter began to see where they were coming from. He had learned to fight from the best, Stakar and his higher ups, and never was his prowess more evident than in that moment. As he wheeled around to shoot his blaster (a gift from Stakar for his birthday a few days prior) at the man running up behind him, his still slightly overlarge red trench coat spun around his heels and he had never felt so powerful in his entire life. Peter spun around to face his mentor, grinning behind his mask, and felt his chest swell with pride as the main shot him a quick ravager salute. 

Of course that's when everything went to shit. 

They had taken down the main deck, interrupting the glitzy festivities happening in the ballroom, and were just picking off the stragglers and starting to fill their pockets when the doors on the other end of the long ballroom burst open and men began to spill out. Peter raised his blaster, expecting more guards, and spent a very confused moment trying to puzzle out what was going on; because the men still spilling into the room certainly weren't officers. Dirty leather, manic grins, a ragtag crew with every shape and size of beat up weapon a person could imagine. These were ravagers. Except Peter had met nearly all of the ravager factions, and when the man who was very clearly the captain strolled out in front of his men Peter could not remember ever seeing his face. With his heavily scarred cerulean skin, sharpened teeth, glowing red skin and what looked like a metal mow hawk, Peter was absolutely certain he wouldn't have forgotten such a person. 

The blue man barked out a laugh, and when he spoke his voice was raspy in a way Peter had never heard before. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Stakar started walking towards the group of ravagers with purpose, oh-so-conveniently placing himself in front of Peter as he made his way forward. Peter knew better than to let his offense show. He knew he could hold his own, and so did Stakar. If he was standing protectively in front of him then Peter knew there must be something deeper going on here. 

Stakar pressed the button behind his ear to pull his mask back away from his face, and Peter couldn't see the blue guy over Stakar's broad shoulders but he didn't think he imagined the sharp intake of breath from him. 

"Stakar." 

"Udonta," Stakar replied, cool as you please. It was the voice Peter only ever heard when someone was in big trouble, and he didn't envy this Udonta guy for being on the receiving end of it. 

Udonta seemed to gain some of his swagger back, his voice laced with mocking confidence when he next spoke. "Aw, so formal. And here I thought we was friends, Stakar!" 

Stakar bristled. Peter could see his shoulder muscles bunching beneath his tight leather coat. He resisted the urge to peer around his mentor, remaining still and calm as he knew Stakar wished. 

"You know of your exile. You broke the ravager code. You disgraced us all." Then, quieter, "you broke all our hearts, kid."

"That's bullshit, and you know it! I didn't know what I was gettin' myself into, didn't know what was happening to them! I didn't think - " 

"That's right, Yondu, you didn't think! You didn't think about anyone but yourself, didn't think about anything other than getting your own fool pockets lined!" The straps on his shoulders glowed a bright yellow, as they always did when he was involuntarily angry, and Peter flinched. 

"Well to hell with you then, you old self-righteous ass! The hell with you and your stupid rules. I've got my own damn faction now!" 

Someone's blaster went off on the other side of the room and Peter, jumpy fool that he was, dropped his own blaster to the floor with a positively deafening clatter. He saw Stakar jolt, saw him start to step back to get closer to his charge, but before he'd so much as taken a single step a high-pitched whistle pierced the air and Peter felt the nape of his jacket tug him out from behind Stakar.

He didn't even have a second to let out a startled yelp before he found himself dangling in front of Udonta. A large blue hand reached up behind his ear and pressed his mask's release, and his face was exposed to open air. The metal thing on Udonta's head was glowing a radioactive red, along with his suddenly wide eyes, and Peter hadn't been so terrified since his first night on Stakar's ship. He was taught well, though, and put on the bravest sneer he could muster, crossing his scrawny arms in front of his chest and mustering as much pride as he could, dangling a couple feet in the air by the nape of his coat. 

"Put me down Udonta, or else!" 

Udonta stared at him in disbelief for a second before his face split in a massive grin and he let out another one of those raspy, barking laughs. Peter raised his eyebrow, let out a little grin of his own, and tossed his arms in the air so he could slip out of his coat. As his feet touched down, quick as lightening, he dropped his body low and swung out his leg, taking the smirking blue idiot out in a clearly unexpected split second. Peter was halfway across the room before Udonta could even wrap his mind around what had happened, running full-pelt at Stakar who, passive as he was trying to seem, had terror written all over his face. Peter was stopped in his tracks once again as another sharp whistle pierced the air. Suddenly there was an extremely sharp glowing arrow hovering in front of his face. He nearly didn't stop in time, skidding to a halt so close to the point that he was pretty sure it had scratched his forehead. 

"The hell is this, Stakar?" Udonta shouted, fury thickening his voice. 

"Udonta, let the kid go or I swear I will rip your spine from your goddamn body!" Stakar all but snarled. 

Thank the stars the rest of the cruise ship's guards chose that moment to storm in behind Udonta and his team and they had no choice but to busy themselves with dodging blaster fire. With a sharp little whistle the arrow whizzed away and Peter wasted no time pelting the rest of the way over to Stakar, who grabbed his shoulder in relief, handed him his dropped blaster, and urged him ahead as they all dashed back to their own vessel. Peter was first in and stood to the side watching the chaos unfold as his crew-mates piled in. 

Despite the seriously confusing turn of events and his very possibly near-death experience, Peter couldn't help but be awed by what the other ravager captain was doing. The implant on his head glowed a vibrant red, and with every short distinct whistle the little arrow whizzed through another body, trailing a radioactive red light behind it. Udonta was a sight to behold, striding through his men and the guards, elbowing men in the face without even glancing their way, unnaturally red eyes following the path of his arrow. Peter knew he'd never forget the sight of all the power in that leather-clad ravager captain, and even though he knew he should be afraid of him he was more awe-struck than anything. As the last of their men boarded and the airlock closed, Peter pressed his face to the glass to get one last look at Udonta. He started slightly when said man's piercing red gaze locked on his, and his blue lips parted in a devilish smirk. To Peter's further confusion, the last glance he got of Yondu Udonta was of the captain tossing him a jaunty little Terran salute, grin still firmly in place. 

\--------------------------------------------------

Peter knew that the captain had always had a soft spot for him. He knew he could get away with significantly more than the rest of the crew, but he always tried his very best not to take advantage of that. Although the crew accepted him, had raised him as the world's most fucked up family, they were still ravagers. They were still ravagers, and ravagers were like sharks when they smelled a hint of weakness. Stakar remained in power through a combination of respect and fear, and should anyone feel that he was becoming weak it was only a matter of time before an uprising began. So Peter treated him as the rest of the crew did, as a captain first and foremost. Still, there were times when he pushed the rules a little, pushed his limits, and when the captain returned to the ship and immediately sequestered himself in his quarters, demanding that absolutely no one disturb him, well... Peter took advantage of the old man's affection for him. 

Stakar didn't so much as growl at Peter as he hacked the code to his door and took a tentative step inside. Instead he snorted and raised his flask to his lips, taking a heavy pull. Peter made his way over to the bench Stakar was sitting on and plopped down next to him, thighs brushing in a way that could be passed off as accidental if Stakar didn't want to admit to taking a gesture of affection. He was in a weird mood though, apparently, and slung his heavy arm over Peter's shoulders to pull him into an all-too-rare hug. 

"Stakar?" Peter asked, voice muffled by his mentor's leather jacket. Stakar buried his nose in Peter's ginger hair and sighed. "What did Udonta do?" 

"Udonta and I have a... complicated history," Stakar said, squeezing Peter's shoulders affectionately once before gently pushing him upright and slightly away. 

"Were you... er... lovers?" Peter asked tentatively and Stakar shot him a look like he was the biggest idiot he'd ever met. 

As Peter had hoped it would, the question pulled a little amused snort from Stakar. "Shit, kid, no. Of course not!" 

"Well, I mean, he was kinda pretty. And you seemed awful upset to see him. Are you suuuuure?" 

Peter dodged the affectionate punch aimed at his arm with a chuckle and Stakar rolled his eyes. "Pretty, huh? Us ravagers have clearly been a bad influence on you." 

"Oh, right, because that's the worst thing I got from you guys. Never mind, you know, all the killing I did today, or the stealing, or any of those other completely innocent ravager traits you bestowed upon the innocent little Terran kid." 

Stakar took another drag from his flask, somber again despite Peter's teasing. That Udonta guy must have really done a number on the captain to shake him up so badly. 

"We rescued Yondu, from Kree, when he was barely more than a kid. He was a slave there, and we took him into the fold, made him one of us." Stakar sighed and slung his arm around Peter's shoulders once more. "When he broke the code, it killed us all to lose him." 

Peter rested his head on Stakar's broad shoulder and took the flask from him, taking a little experimental pull from it. He manfully held in the burning need to cough, handing the thing back to the captain in disgust. Stakar rolled his eyes and pinched Peter's shoulder as he took the flask with his other hand. Peter did that, sometimes, tried to act like one of the adults by drinking or smoking or trying to pick up a woman. None of the above had gone over too well, but he was young yet and Stakar could see him growing into a man before his own eyes.

"He was like a son to you," Peter whispered finally. A statement, not a question. 

Stakar hummed in lieu of an answer, and he and Peter sat in silence, watching the stars out of the room's one large window until Peter fell asleep with his head resting on the captain's shoulder.

 

Peter was a teenager and, like all teenagers, his dreams tended to stray towards the less than appropriate. Growing up among a group of crazy looking aliens had lent his imagination some leeway into what he did and did not find attractive. When you lived basically your whole life among a bunch of squid people, cyborgs, reptilians, and humanoids with every skin color imaginable it was kind of hard to make yourself be picky about what type of person you were attracted to. His dreams featured all sorts of people, from humans to humanoids to the entirely alien. One time he even had a dream about this Lortian girl he’d met at a port, and in it her fluorescent pink tentacles had done all sorts of wicked things to him. 

After he had met Udonta, however, his dreams started to shift. He had never had a person to fantasize about, had never found his thoughts straying to one person in particular. There was something about that cock-sure smirk, though, the dangerous glint in his inhumanly red eyes; something about the amount of power he had exuded that stuck with Peter. To his utter humiliation, he found that soft, feminine hands, luminescent tentacles, stroking purple fingers began to shift into rough, calloused blue hands. Instead of a sweet voice whispering sexy little nothings in his ear, hot ragged breath ghosted over his neck and a deep raspy voice whispered all the dirty wicked things he planned to do to him. Once, Peter even had a particularly unexpected dream involving Udonta’s arrow. 

Of course his first legitimate crush would be on a wildly inappropriate subject, because that was Peter’s life. He never did things the easy way. After the fifth or sixth time waking up sweaty and panting, with mysteriously sticky sheets, he resolved to never, ever, tell another living soul about the situation.


	2. Cherry Bomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, guys, they give me life!

Peter jumped as a holo pad was dropped unceremoniously onto his tray, the impact causing the remainder of his food to fly up and smack him in the face. He growled in irritation as he wiped the green jell-o like substance out of his eye. 

Talon was standing at his shoulder, laughing at his frustration. He had never really forgiven Peter for his stunt with the eye. Maybe it was because, eight years later, the crew still reminded him to sleep with one eye open, cackling every single time like it was the first time the joke was made. Maybe it was because Peter, sensing an easy target, had spent the better portion of three years pulling similar pranks on the man. Or maybe it was because Talon, too, had been picked up when he was very young (fifteen, maybe, the kid had been a scrappy little shit Stakar had found living on the streets pickpocketing), and although he always looked to Stakar as a father figure he had never received the same treatment as Peter. Whatever the case, their relationship was tense and rocky, and Talon never passed up a chance to rankle Peter. 

"The hell do you want, you big purple jackass?" 

"Captain's got a mission for you. There's the specs. You leave in an hour." 

Peter would have had more to say, would have held onto his irritation if he wasn't so damn excited, if his heart hadn't lept to his throat with hid sudden anticipation. A mission! His own mission. He gleefully scanned the mission specs, heart racing in excitement when he realized that it was a solo mission, too. He let out an excited whoop as he pushed back from the table, snatched up the pad, and dashed out of the mess hall. 

When he skidded onto the deck five minutes later, he was panting and his manic grin was threatening to split his face in half. Stakar was in the middle of talking to his first mate, a Xandarian by the name of Crux. Peter held in his burning need to talk, hands clasped behind his back, but he couldn't quite stay still and spent the next agonizing minutes bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

When Crux was finally done talking with Stakar he shot Peter a little smirk and made his way over to the antsy kid. The punch he aimed at Peter's shoulder was a lot harder than your average friendly tap, but Peter barely felt it in his excitement. 

"Don't fuck up, kid," the Xandarian quipped, before waltzing out the door and leaving Peter alone with Stakar. 

One time, when Peter was twelve or thirteen, he'd tried calling Stakar "dad". That had earned him a hard smack upside the head and a week of kitchen duty, and so Peter never tried it again. Still, even though Stakar had become more and more stern on Peter as he grew older, Peter thought of him as his father privately and was always striving to do better, be better; he wanted to make Stakar proud. So when Stakar strode over to him, giant boots thumping on the metal floor, Peter stilled his jittery body and stood up straight, thumping his chest twice in a ravager salute. 

"Reporting for mission briefing, sir," he said, earning an amused smirk from Stakar. 

The captain gestured for Peter to follow him to the center of the room, where he waved his hand and a holographic model of a little moon glowed to life. "This one's going to be easy, kid. This is a small moon orbiting the planet Oorga."

Peter leaned in closer as Stakar pulled at the sides of the moon and the display zoomed into the core, revealing a guarded vault. 

"There's not usually much here, but right now the inhabitants of the planet are holding a very large, very valuable piece of treasure inside the vault. It's meant to be a gift for the queen-to-be of a neighboring planet; a gift of good faith and a promise of continuing peace between the planets." As the display lit up with the image of a positively massive tiara, Stakar’s eyes got that glean they always had when there was a particularly large haul in sight. In the center of the tiara was a purple gem that was pulsing with light, each flare like a heartbeat.

"The stone in the center is what we really want. That there is an extremely rare form of energy which can only be found on Oorga. It is guarded jealously, rarely unearthed, and the only reason it's being kept on the moon right now instead of in the vaults on the planet is because someone let slip that there was going to be a heist by someone from inside the inner city." 

Peter smirked. "Oh, really? Gee, I wonder who that was." 

Stakar winked at Peter before turning back to the display. "Anyway, we really do have an informant inside the inner city, which is how we know where the stone is being kept now." 

"How did he find out? If it's this valuable, how did anyone know where it was being taken?" 

"Who said anything about a he? She is a woman of many talents, and we all know that a man with his pants down is a vulnerable one. Let's just say that she knows exactly how to get what she wants without being suspected and leave it at that." 

"Noted. Any security other than the guards?" 

The display went out, and Peter was left staring at Stakar's aged face. "Our informant is good, but she's not that good. That's why I'm sending you. Once you're past the guards you're on your own, and everyone here knows that when you need someone to sneak into somewhere they're not wanted you're one of the best we got." 

Peter flushed at the compliment, preening. "Well, I am pretty awesome." 

"Alright Star Lord, that's enough ego boosting for one day. The mission shouldn't take more than two weeks." He gestured for Peter to follow him, and Peter complied. "You're going to take my second ship. You remember, the one I borrowed from that Rigellian a few years back?" 

Peter was tall now, lanky and awkward, but he relished the fact that he no longer had to jog to keep up with the captain as they made their way to the hangar. "Borrowed, my ass. You tossed him out the airlock!" 

"Semantics. Anyway, its cloaking capabilities are incredible. Perfect for a stealth mission like this. You get in, you get out, you bring the stone back here so we can sell it off out on Knowhere." 

They drew to a halt outside the ship in question, turning to face one another. Stakar ruffled Peter's hair and slapped him good-naturedly on the cheek before shoving him towards the ramp. "I packed provisions for you this morning while you were training. You move out now." 

"Wait! My walkman!" 

Stakar rolled his eyes and pulled the item in question out of his jacket pocket. "Don't worry, you sentimental idiot, I didn't forget that you can't leave without this thing attached at your hip." 

Peter grinned and darted in for a quick hug, pulling back and jogging up the ramp before he could get his ass handed to him for the gesture. As the ramp started to retract, he and Stakar exchanged a ravager salute and a nod. He popped on his orange headphones as he made his way to the cockpit. Moonage Daydream blasted through his eardrums as the thrusters came on, and it was with a gleeful smile on his face that took off into the stars.

 

It took him four days to reach his destination. 

The moon orbiting Oorga was small and unassuming. There was literally nothing visible on the surface, and he sort of understood why they had chosen it to keep the treasure safe in. He spent a day cloaked and at a distance, surveying. He figured out the guard rotation, and kept an eye out for any kind of surface security. As far as he could tell by the strict path the guards took there were mines littered all over the surface. He made note of where the guards stepped, a pretty routine zig-zag formation, and entered the path into his mask’s display.

Day two rolled around and he planted his stealthed ship down inside of a massive crater just outside of the vault entrance. He didn't know why they hadn't stolen more of these ships by now, but they were dead useful and as he disembarked he made a note to point out to Stakar how great it would be to have a few more under their belts. The crater wasn’t so deep that he needed to risk alerting the guards with the sound of his boot jets, so he shimmied up the sides, muscles straining, and hid behind a boulder to wait for the scheduled guard rotation. 

Right on cue, a little ship bearing six guards touched down and they picked their way across the mine field. Their job looked boring as hell, and not for the first time he felt grateful for the life he led. 

He waited ten minutes after the old guards had flown off before he pulled up the display on his mask and began making his way to the entrance. Whatever kind of mines were planted, his scanners didn't pick up a single one. He did not want to consider the damage they could probably do if he managed to step on one. The thought sent a little shiver up his spine. He remembered the last time the crew had met a hidden mine field. One of the duller tools in the shed had dashed across the surface, unheeding of Stakar’s warning, and kaboom! Peter was still finding literal pieces of skin in his hair six hours later. 

When he finally did reach the entrance he made sure his blasters were hidden by his coat and dug around in his pockets for the little device he had stored in there. A second later he grasped it in one gloved hand and, clutching his prize, he made his way into the cavern. 

The guards were clearly startled to see him, and he used that to his advantage, retracting his mask and putting off the air of a dumb confused kid. He held up his hands so that they could see his palms but not what he had clutched between his pointer and middle finger. He always knew card tricks would come in handy, and the little flat metal triangle that was only visible from his vantage point proved it. 

"Hey guys, uh, look, this is awkward. I'm trying to get to Oorga, but I ran out of fuel." He laughed, self-depreciating. "My dad's going to kill me. I wasn't supposed to take the ship, but I heard about this bar..." 

"Stay where you are!" one of the guards barked, raising his weapon threateningly. 

"Whoa, hey, okay buddy. I don't mean to cause any trouble!" 

One of the guards leaned in to whisper to the guy who had shouted at him. "He's just a kid, man, just make him leave." 

The angry guard turned his head to reply and Peter smirked, sensing his opportunity. When the little triangle hit the dirt, four of the six guards fell to the ground, bodies crackling with electricity. Peter wasted no time releasing his mask and pulling out his blaster. He took one of the remaining two guards out right away, but the second one struck his blaster out of his hand and, thinking quickly, Peter dashed to the wall and jumped at it, propelling himself into a backflip and landing with his feet planted on the guy's chest. Two good kicks to the face with his boot and the last guard was out. 

"Piece of cake," Peter mumbled, kneeling down to pick the lock on the vault.

Stakar was always telling him that he was too full of himself and that his conceit would be what got him killed. He'd tell him that it was never safe to assume the job was done, that you had to be on your guard even when it seemed like you'd taken out your target. As the door creaked open and Peter was grabbed around the waist by a massive tentacle he had a split second to realize that, yeah, maybe Stakar had been right about that. 

"Fuck," he wheezed as the tentacle cinched around his middle and yanked him into the darkness. 

Teeth. 

So many razor sharp teeth filled Peter's vision as he was pulled inescapably towards the source of the hot acrid breath rustling through his hair. His hands were strapped down to his sides, his legs were plastered together, and the life was slowly getting crushed out of his chest and he knew that there was no way in hell he was going to make it out of this one.

A string of explatives spilled steadily out of his mouth as he tried to free himself. He tried to kick his legs, growled in frustration as his attempts to pull an arm out were met with no success. 

“Shit, fuck, goddamnit you stupid motherfucker put me down!” he screeched as those teeth got so close he knew for a fact that there was no way he was surviving this encounter. As one last fuck you he spit a big sticky glob of mucus into the thing’s eye when he was close enough to count the teeth. Then he closed his eyes and hoped to shit that there was no hell out in this part of the galaxy. 

A series of sharp successive whistles pierced the air, red blazed behind Peter's eyelids, and then he was falling. If he'd had any breath left in him the impact from the ground would have knocked it out of him. He had no time to sit in shock, though, as the beast screeched in pain and flailed its remaining limbs around, the lashing movements threatening to crush him flat. He gasped out a strained breath and started trying to wiggle out of the now severed tentacle, ignoring the screaming of his ribs and lungs. 

"Chu think yer doin' here, idjit?" a naggingly familiar voice hissed above him. Another whistle, and from the corner of his eye Peter saw a vibrant red streak lash out at the beast.

Peter renewed his struggle, but couldn't seem to get a good enough footing to push himself out of the massive limb. "Oh, you know, just taking a fucking vacation! The hell do you think I'm doing here?" 

"Quit your damn squirmin, boy," the man grunted, and Peter's vision was filled with cerulean skin as Yondu Udonta, of all people, leaned over him and started hacking at the tentacle. 

After an agonizingly long time spent chopping, the offending limb was weak enough that Peter could tear his way out. His lungs screamed in protest as he took his fist deep shaky breath, but air had never tasted so damn good before. He ignored Udonda's outstretched hand and scrambled to his feet, slipping in green oozy blood and panting. 

"Why are you here, Udonta? This is our heist. Back the hell off!" 

Udonta laughed, that sharp raspy laugh Peter remembered from when he was a kid. As he'd gotten older he'd still sometimes dreamed about that laugh and those stupid sharp teeth and that wicked red arrow. He never thought he'd have to see his first very inappropriate crush again, but of course he had the shittiest luck in the galaxy and the outlaw among outlaws had to save his ass on his first ever fuck up of a solo mission. 

"Boy, there ain't no claim on this heist. Way I see it, I just saved your scrawny idjit ass. You owe me. Once I take out this here beasty, we's gonna have to part ways with you empty handed." 

"Ha! Screw that, you big blue jackass. Have fun with the squid!" 

Before Udonta knew what had happened, Peter had activated his rocket boots and was blasting around the creature. It didn't see him, too distracted with chasing the glowing arrow, and Peter smirked to himself. 

He stopped halfway down the cavern, though, when he heard the ravager shout out in pain. The regular bursts of whistling cut off, and the beast roared in what sounded suspiciously like triumph. Cursing himself for being such a goddamn softie, Peter turned around and hightailed it back to the fight. He was just in time, too. As he rounded the corner he saw that the beast was lifting a struggling Udonta up by his leg and dangling him over its rows of razor teeth. It had his mouth covered, preventing his whistle. Peter pulled out the little retractable short sword he carried in his boot and pressed a button, sending electricity jolting up its length. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and launched himself at that mouth, shouting a battle cry he would adamantly deny for the rest of his life. 

Udonta was almost in the thing's mouth by the time Peter reached him, and when their bodies slammed together and he flung out his arm to cut off the tentacle holding the man, Peter felt a blinding pain rip through his left side. No time to think about that, though. He dropped Udonta to the ground and turned around to face the beast again, pulling a little golden orb out of his knapsack. 

"Alright, bitch, let's go," he hissed. Udonta shouted for him to wait a split second before Peter propelled himself right at the nasty creature's face. At the very last second he veered off, barely missing the snapping jaw, jerking around to land on top of the thing's head. It screamed and bucked, slapping itself in the face with its tentacles as it tried to dislodge him. Peter was fast, though, his reflexes quick out of necessity because of his life on the ship.

He dodged until he found his opening, and then slammed his sword in one massive eye. He ignored the viscous fluid it emitted and pressed a button on his golden orb before sticking his whole arm into the eye socket and dropping the device inside. He had thirty seconds, tops, after that before the thing exploded so he swan dove off of the creature's head and slammed into Undonta again, wrapping his scrawny arms around the man's thick waist and propelling them out the door. 

They hit the ground just outside the vault's entrance when the explosion hit, and Peter landed on the ravager, hard, before momentum tossed him off and he skidded through the loose gravel of the moon's surface. The mines, it turned out, were like giant electrical bear traps. He was damned lucky not to hit one, but a piece of alien flesh landed on one a few yards from him and the mine released, snapping up the chunk of meat and charring it. The impact this time did knock the breath out of him, and he hacked out a wheezy cough from inside his mask. He laid there, each breath like a punch to his chest, until his heart-rate finally slowed and he could pull himself to his feet. He noticed Udonta on the ground a few feet from him, groaning as he propped up on an elbow and surveyed the mess of monster guts that had sprayed from the cave. 

"Damn, boy, you don't do things half-assed, do ya? Hey! Where do you think you're going?" 

"To get what I came here for," Peter hissed, clutching at the gaping wound in his side and marching with determination into the cave again. He heard Udonta scramble to his feet and catch up to him.

"You think a stunt like that went unnoticed? We gotta hightail it outta here before the army reaches us!" 

"No! Stakar trusted me with this, and I'll be damned if I'm leaving here empty handed. You don't like it, get yourself back to your ship and get out of here. I'm not giving you the stone anyway. Might as well get." 

"You're crazy as hell, boy," Udonta laughed. He whistled once and his arrow dislodged itself from between two of the creature's teeth and made its way into his outstretched hand. "I think I like you." 

Peter had grabbed the stone off of its pedestal, holding his blaster to Udonta's head with a warning glare. Udonta barked out a laugh, holding his hands up in mock surrender. The gesture made Peter want to punch him in the face, but not only was that a grad A shit idea, but he was rapidly losing energy. By the time they made their way back to the surface he knew he wasn't going to stay conscious for too much longer. Blood loss was getting to him, and his vision was starting to go in and out of focus. Worse, though, to his horror when he peered down into the crater where he had parked his ship it wasn't there. 

He didn't have time to panic, didn't have time to react, except for a weakly mumbled expletive as he fell to the ground and the lights of approaching army ships pierced the horizon. 

"Aw, hell," Yondu mumbled, bending down and picking up the stupid kid. He was surprisingly light, and with one arm under his skinny legs and the other behind his back Yondu pushed the boy's head into his chest and took off towards his own ship at a jog. 

 

Peter woke with a jolt, disoriented, and tried to sit up. If the searing pain that ripped through his side at the action hadn't halted him, the large blue hand pushing at his chest would have. He gasped, whipping his head up to look into eerily crimson eyes. He took rapid stock of his situation, noting the pile of furs he was laying in and the unfamiliar belly of a ship. A thought occurred to him and he quickly reached down to the pack he knew was no longer around his waist. 

"Relax, boy, I didn't steal it. It's right there on the table, see?" 

Sure enough, there it was. He could see the light from the pulsing purple stone through the leather of the bag. 

"What are you going to do with me, Udonta?" Peter asked, meeting the ravager's eyes with a sneer. 

"I ain't gonna do nothing with you, ya dumb shit. You saved my life, and I don't take that kinda act lightly. I patched you up. You'll have one hell of a scar, but you'll live. You can stay with me until you find a way to make it back to Stakar, then we're even, ya hear me boy?" 

Peter didn't have the energy to be distrustful anymore. He fell back into the furs and felt his eyes closing against his will. "Better not be lying," he mumbled as he once again lost consciousness. 

He didn't know how much time had passed when he next woke, but he knew where he was this time when his eyes blinked blurrily open. The pain in his side had dulled, likely due to some kind of pain injection if the way his head spun was any indication. He took a deep, shuddering breath and sat up gingerly. Udonta didn't seem to be around, so he carefully lifted up the left side of his shirt and surveyed the damage.

The wound stretched from his hip to his armpit, a long jagged cut he had no doubt really was going to leave a wicked scar. He had always healed at a pretty accelerated rate, and Udonta seemed to have cleaned and stitched the wound with care. He figured it would heal up enough to move around soon and he could hijack a ship when Udonta wasn't looking and make his way back to Stakar's clan. 

The ravager walked into the room as Peter was letting his shirt drop. He had a tray with cooked protein gelatin and a glass that was hopefully full of water. He raised an eyebrow at Peter and placed the tray on the little metal bedside table. Peter held his ground when the man sat on the edge of the bed, but couldn't help his flinch when he reached towards him. 

"Chu think I patched you up and took care of you for a whole damn week so I could kill you when you woke up? I just need to check the wound, idjit." 

"Sorry," Peter mumbled, lifting his arm and turning his head away so Udonta could do what needed to be done. Centaurians ran at a warmer temperature than Terrans, so when the ravager lifted the side of Peter's shirt and poked gingerly at his stitches Peter jumped a little at the difference. The man glared at him in warning to stay still and Peter made an effort to contain himself. He felt vulnerable like this, wounded and stripped out of his ravager leathers. He had no weapons on him, and had no idea, really, what this guy was going to do to him.

Udonta hummed in the back of his throat and dropped Peter's shirt, picking up the tray and handing it to the boy. "You sure do heal fast. That a Terran thing?" 

"It's a 'none of your business' thing," Peter quipped, picking up the spoon in a slightly shaky hand and bringing its contents to his lips. 

"Hell, you're a feisty little shit. Not even an ounce of gratitude." 

"I don't trust people Stakar doesn't trust," Peter said, glaring. 

"Stakar ain't god, boy, and you'd do well to remember that," Udonta spit out, rolling his eyes and making his way to the door. "There's some clothes for ya in the bathroom. You can shower, but you got five minutes before the auto shut off. Been too long in here already, water reserve's runnin' low." 

Peter didn't say a word, just gulped down the rest of his food and water. He waited five minutes after Udonta had left before limping his way over to the bathroom and stripping out of his bloody clothes. Ravagers didn't clean often, as water stores on ships were fairly low and all other forms of cleaning were costly or inconvenient. He'd never gotten over his love for a hot shower, though, and definitely wasn't going to pass up the opportunity.

He groaned as the first jet of water hit his back, washing dirt and dried blood down the drain. There was a blue bar of soap dangling from the shower head and he quickly grabbed it and scrubbed his body down from the top of his head to his toes.

By the time the five minutes were up he felt a million times better. He pulled on the red leather pants Udonta had left him (no underwear, which was probably a blessing) and cinched them at the waist with the belt bearing the ravager crest. They were too big, and Peter figured they probably belonged to the captain. The shirt, too, was large; a soft black t-shirt he didn't bother to tuck in. At the bottom of the pile was a long red ravager trench coat and his own boots. He pulled the heavy, worn coat over his shoulders and dragged his boots onto his feet, adamantly denying the fact that he was already starting to feel worn out. On his way out the door he grabbed his knapsack, checked that his prize was still inside, and slung it securely over his shoulder. 

He found Udonta sitting at a little metal table in the center of the ship, feet propped on the surface. He was reading a star chart and picking at his teeth with a wicked looking knife. He didn't glance up when Peter entered, but he did kick a chair out for him. Peter took the seat, eyeing the knife with trepidation. What was this guy playing at? He wasn't just a ravager, he was an outlaw ravager; one with serious beef against the man who had raised Peter. Why wasn't he trying to kill him? Or ransom him, even? Not that Stakar would ever pay that ransom, but it was definitely a ravager thing to try. 

"I ain't gonna tell you again, kid, I'm not gonna eat ya. Quit lookin at me like I'm prepping you for the oven." 

Peter rolled his eyes and pulled out his little communicator. It had been destroyed sometime during his fight with the beast, but he had been hoping he could repair it. No such luck, though, the thing was useless. He tossed it onto the table in disgust and crossed his arms over his chest. He really, really didn't want to ask Udonta for anything, but how the hell else was he supposed to get in contact with Stakar? 

"Yes, you can use the comm. Just don't touch anything else." 

Peter huffed and leaned over to pull up the dial screen. His communicator had a line directly linked to Stakar, but there was no way to call it without the device so he had to settle for dialing into the main ship. Just his goddamn luck, too, because Talon of all people answered. When he saw who was calling Talon smirked, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow. 

"Oh, hey Talon. What's shakin?" Peter asked, grinning impishly.

"Hi Star Princess. You got a lot of nerve calling us after that shit you just pulled." 

That had Peter on the defensive in a hot second. "What the hell do you mean, the shit I just pulled? Dammit, Talon, I'm only like two days late. I almost got eaten alive by some kind of giant mutant squid-shark. Thanks for the warning about that by the way, asshole. I'm lucky to be alive!" 

"My ass. Everyone knows you sold off your ship and went off with Udonta. Oh, look, there's that piece of shit Centaurian now. Hey, Yondu, long time no see." Talon waved jauntily at Udonta and just grinned wider when the man flipped him the bird. "Poor captain, lost his new pet to his old one. He's heartbroken, I'm sure." 

"Goddamnit Talon, this is bullshit. Get Stakar, let met talk to him!" 

Talon leaned back in his seat and picked a piece of something out of his teeth. "See, kid, the captain's been crossed one too many times in his lifetime. He ain't got no time for traitors like you. He told me that if I heard from you I needed to block all your calls and tell you that if you ever make your way back to us, you'll be dead before your ship lands in the hangar." 

To his horror, Peter felt frustrated tears prickling hotly at the corners of his eyes. "You're lying! Stakar wouldn't - put him on, dammit!" 

"Oh, but he would. Proof's right in front of my eyes, anyway, there's Udonta right behind you." Talon plastered on a very fake look of sympathy. "What, you thought Stakar thought of you as family? Don't be stupid, kid. He told us all how you tried to call him dad once and he almost tossed you out the airlock for your insolence. You got an inflated sense of self-worth, boy, and I'm here to tell you that you're wrong. He may have cared about you when you was a kid, but once you were old enough to join the crew… well. You're the same as us, and I'm telling you that he was dead serious when he said he'd shoot you right out the sky. Best stay away, Terran, if you know what's good for you." 

When the screen flickered out, Talon's obnoxious smirk lingering a second too long, it was only Udonta's hand grabbing his raised arm that stopped him from punching the offending piece of equipment into smithereens. He wrenched his fist out of the man's grasp and grabbed the edge of the table, knuckles white. 

"Look, I've always hated that jackass, too, but that doesn't mean you need to go round breaking my shit." 

"Shut up, asshole. You're the last person I want to talk to right now," Peter choked, sniffling. Then, in a move he hadn't tried since he was ten, he took off out of the room to find a place to hide. 

Trouble was, this was just an M-ship. There wasn't much room for a tall, scrawny eighteen-year-old to run in. Yondu found him ten minutes later, huddled in a corner in the engine room and wiping away his tears. The ravager didn’t say a word as he slid down the wall to rest next to the newly exiled kid, but he did place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. Peter considered shaking him off, but was honestly too exhausted to do even that. 

"Believe it or not, I know how you feel," Udonta said, dropping his head back to hit the wall with a thunk. "I was in your position once, remember? Captain's favorite. He was like a father to me too. I never had a daddy, see, parents sold me off when I was just a kid. I grew up a slave, and when Stakar rescued me... Well, the sun sure as hell shone out his ass, far as I was concerned." 

"The difference is that you actually did something to get exiled! I didn't do shit other than almost get my ass killed!" 

"Is that what you think? Use your head, boy. The same thing happened to me. I didn't do what Stakar thinks I did, didn't knowingly break no ravager code. He turned his back on me, same as you." Peter sniffed, staring up at Udonta with big, watery eyes. He knew he should be embarrassed, but he just felt so small all of a sudden. Udonta patted his head before dropping his hand back into his lap to fiddle with the arrow on his belt. 

"You can join my crew, if that’s something you’re interested in. I know you're a good ravager, saw you fightin when you were just a little thing and you're even better now. It’s not every day someone saves my pretty ass like that." Peter opened his mouth to argue, but Udonta beat him to it. "It's better than being alone. Trust me." 

When Peter didn't answer, the ravager clapped a hand on his knee and used it to push himself up. "You think on it for a bit. We'll be hitting my ship sometime tomorrow. You got till then to decide. If you decide not to, we'll drop you off in Knowhere and you can make your own way from there." 

"Thanks, Udonta," Peter mumbled, staring at his hands. 

"Call me Yondu, kid." 

"Yondu." 

 

Stakar sat at the table in his quarters, broodily stroking at his lips. Maybe it had been too soon to send Peter off alone. 

Maybe the intel Talon had gotten from their informant on Oorga had been lacking. 

Maybe they had missed something, and the vault had been more heavily guarded than they thought.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reminding himself that this was exactly why he had made it a point never to get close to one of his men like this. The ravager life was dangerous. People died all the time. Still, he had thought Peter’s training had been good enough, thought he was skilled enough, to make it for the long haul. 

His door hissed open and he resisted the urge to lurch to his feet, made himself pretend he wasn’t eager for news. He glanced at Talon, standing in the doorway looking nervous. “What is it? Have we heard from Peter yet?” 

Talon wrung his hands, glancing down. “I’m sorry, sir, we haven’t but….” 

“But what, Talon? What happened?” Stakar snapped, losing patience. 

“Sir, we found Quill’s ship.” 

Stakar’s breath caught in his throat. He’d said they’d found Peter’s ship, not Peter. “And? What of Peter?” 

“His ship was found on Oorga’s moon a couple of days ago, abandoned. Our informant on Oorga sent news that she’d seen it in the impound lot. She said…” Talon trailed off, and Stakar clenched his fists. “She said that there had been some kind of explosion on the moon, sir. There were no survivors.” 

Stakar clenched his fists and bowed his head, hunched shoulders making him look smaller, suddenly, older than he ever had. “Leave me.” 

“Sir, I’m so sorry. I know you cared for the boy.” 

“I said leave me!” Stakar hissed, slamming one of his large fists on the table so hard it left a dent in the metal. The yellow straps on his shoulders buzzed to life, the light a stark warning for anyone who knew to look for it. 

Talon held up his hands and backed out of the room, holding his sympathetic expression until the doors closed and he could no longer see his clearly broken captain. When the doors shut with a snick he allowed a little grin to stretch across his lips before strolling off down the hall, a bounce in his step and whistling a jaunty little tune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Peter, being eighteen is hard enough without this shit added to the mix!  
> I have another chapter or two written already, so updates should be coming soon.


	3. The Chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy there are people reading this, you guys have no idea! Thanks for your words of encouragement!

 

 

Later, Peter tried calling Stakar's ship a few more times, but his face really had been blocked from all communication. He even toyed with the idea of just showing up wherever Stakar and his crew were, demanding he be heard, tossing the crown at the man's feet as proof that he'd done nothing wrong. The problem was, though, that he was a long way from that fourteen-year-old kid who had fallen asleep on Stakar's shoulder. In the four years since, he had definitely noticed a change in how Stakar treated him, starting with the man forcing him out of his own room and into the barracks with the rest.

 

Maybe he really did have an inflated sense of ego.

 

If Stakar could really believe he had betrayed them, if he didn't even want to bother hearing him out, maybe Peter had been wrong and Stakar really never had seen him as more than one of the crew.

 

In the end, he did join Yondu's crew. He buried his hurt by throwing himself into work, earning himself a place of respect among Yondu and his most loyal men. He was a good ravager, and if he hadn't proven his worth by almost getting himself killed saving Yondu the first time they met and then handing over his prize so the profit could be split among the crew, he sure as hell did on his first mission.

 

Yondu and Kraglin, Yondu's scrawny little first mate, went with him. Their babysitting was partially to see what Peter was capable of and partially to make sure the kid didn't do a runner and take off with their ship and loot. Of course the mission went off without a hitch, and Peter even managed to score a half million credits worth of loot more than they'd been expecting. He was accepted after that, at least among Yondu’s most trusted, a regular on most away missions. 

 

Life on Yondu’s ship was wildly different than life on Stakar’s ship. They were both full of ravagers, sure, but Yondu’s crew had a certain air about them, a wild sort of menace born out of living the life of criminals among criminals. Stakar’s ravagers had few rules, but there was an order among them, a comfortable hierarchy born out of fear, yes, but also respect. His crew was happy with the status quo, happy to follow Stakar’s lead and his rules.

 

On Yondu’s ship, things were a bit more unhinged. With the notable exception of Yondu’s bridge crew, Peter got the feeling that Yondu remained in power purely out of the fear he inspired in people. He was a powerful man, hard and unyielding, but even more so when he was among his crew. The ruthlessness with which he ruled, the wild unhinged air he put off when he was with his men was frankly terrifying.

 

It was also, Peter had to admit to himself, maddeningly attractive. He spent his first few tentative months on the ship observing people, keeping as low a profile as he could, and in that time he found his gaze wandering to the commanding presence of his captain more often than not. The way he held himself, shoulders back and chest pushed out in a display of dominance spoke to something primal within Peter. When he punished those who wronged him, hard and ruthless with his lips pulled back in a snarl, Peter couldn’t help but feel aroused, wondering what that wild power would feel like under him, over him, _inside_ him. 

 

Peter was far from a virgin, but his conquests generally consisted of smaller people, dainty and pliant under his wandering touch. That was the realm he was comfortable in, the realm the eighteen-year-old was confident to walk in. He never hesitated to pick someone up at a port, cocksure grin on his lips as he confidently seduced his conquests. It was different, with Yondu. Peter may have been attracted to him, may have fantasized about what it would be like to bed him, but he knew he was way out of his depth. Not only was Yondu roughly twenty years his senior (and hell if Peter was going to examine _that_ idea too closely), but Peter was used to being in charge of his sexual situations and the thought of losing that control was as terrifying as it was arousing.

 

He settled instead for insinuating himself in Yondu’s inner circle, on proving his worth and his loyalty. By the time he was twenty-two he had become one of Yondu’s most trusted, nearly as close as Kraglin, and he felt that they were as close to being friends as the prickly captain was capable of.

 

\------------------------

 

 

 

Three years later, when Peter was twenty-five Terran years old, he, Yondu, and Kraglin found themselves on another job together. It wasn’t uncommon for the three of them to take work with each other, and the situation was comfortable for Peter. They worked well as a team, and thus far had never really encountered a serious problem with a mission. Peter was still the youngest, though, still the least experienced, and as such it was often Kraglin and Yondu at the forefront, a formidable assault force born of years of teamwork and trust. Peter was the retriever, his stealth skills only growing as he grew into his strength and became comfortable in his own skin. It made him the ideal person to get past the commotion the other two created and nab their target.

 

This mission was supposed to be easy, a simple retrieval mission for some guy Yondu sometimes worked for called the Broker. It was a symbiotic relationship: The Broker didn't give a shit how Yondu acquired his goods so long as he got what he wanted and Yondu didn't care enough to ask questions about the goods so long as he kept getting paid obscene amounts of units for them. 

 

"There's some kinda bug the guy wants, on this here planet called A-Chitar III." Yondu pointed at the holo of the planet, the green light contrasting with his blue skin.

 

Peter scoffed. "A  _bug?_  The hell does he want a bug for?" He poked the image of the bug, enlarging it. It looked to him like a fuzzy pink slug with two bulbous eyes sticking out the side of its head and fuzzy little green antennas. Hardly valuable, if you asked him. "Better yet, why can't he come get it himself?" 

 

"Ain't your place to question orders from yer cap'n, boy," Kraglin sneered, always on the defensive when it came to Yondu. Peter suspected he wasn't the only one who had harbored a secret attraction for the blue captain at some point. 

 

"I ain't questioning nothin', Krags. Just sayin' it seems a little suspicious is all." 

 

"Boy's right, there's somethin' off about this one. That's nothin new though, Petey, the Broker has always been a tricky little motherfucker. Never take what he says at face value," Yondu said, completely missing the way Peter mockingly stuck out his tongue at Kraglin. "Still, pay's always worth it. Guy has more money than he knows what to do with, and hell if I'll ever pass up an opportunity to get some of it." 

 

He placed three golden shackle-shaped things on the table underneath the holo of the weird little bug. "These here are for keeping it contained once we catch the little thing. Just open it up like this." He pinched at the side with two fingers and the thing gave a mechanical hiss and snicked open. "Put it around the critter's neck, right there, close it up and we're on our way to one hell of a payday." 

 

Peter picked up his shackle and examined it, noting the intricate little weavings of blue light that almost looked like veins. "Sounds easy enough. Do we know where to find it?"

 

Yondu zoomed in on the holo of the planet, indicating a dark tree-covered forest on the edge of a marsh. "According to the Broker the critters live in the tops of these here purple trees." 

 

"Damn, I hate heights," Kraglin groaned and Peter turned to stare at him, one eyebrow raised derisively.

 

"You're kidding, right?  _Dude_  you're a space pirate. You live in a spaceship.  _Every time_ you go to a planet you're literally as high as you can get and you're telling me that you're afraid of heights??" 

 

Kraglin actually blushed before punching Peter hard enough in the shoulder to make him stagger. "Shut the hell up, idjit. S'not the same, okay?"

 

Peter just laughed, mocking dipshit grin stretching over his face. Kraglin huffed and made the excuse that he needed to prepare for their landing before stomping off. 

 

"The two a you argue like a couple a damn kids," Yondu mumbled, concentrating on the holo once more. 

 

"Aw, just means we like each other is all," Peter said, bumping shoulders with Yondu affectionately. The gesture brought him up short. It was something he'd done often with Stakar, a quiet way of showing his affection for the older man. Peter forgot himself sometimes, Terran sentiment and emotions drowning out his ravager upbringing. It was worse when it happened with Yondu, worse because Peter had never quite gotten over his attraction and if he wasn’t careful the already precarious feelings of friendship he felt for the man could turn into something much more dangerous.

 

He took his own sudden awkwardness as his cue to make his own excuses of needing to get ready for their landing, scampering out to his bunk and making sure he had everything he needed. A quick scan of the rapidly approaching planet assured him that he wouldn't need a coat, so he folded the old red thing Yondu had given him all those years ago and set it on his pillow. His retractable mask was already in place behind his ear, along with his blaster. He'd lost his electric short-sword in the fight with that squid monster all those years ago, and had never been able to replace it. In its holster he had a small intricate blade he'd managed to nick off of some jackass named Taserface. 

 

Later, when Kaglin had landed them on the edge of a marsh and they’d picked their way across a mile of soggy ground, the three of them found themselves standing on the edge of an extremely creepy rainforest. Peter manfully repressed a shudder as a positively massive orange arachnid scampered up a tree trunk upon their approach. It was easily the size of his head, and its legs clicked all the way up the bark. Disgusting.

 

He was immediately glad he'd left the coat. Even though the thick leather felt like an extra layer of armor he knew if he had worn it he would be burning alive right now in the terribly humid heat. A glance to Kraglin made him smirk when he realized the guy was still wearing his own coat and sweating his ass off already, beet red in the face. 

 

"How's it going, Krags? Little toasty in there?" 

 

Peter cackled as Kraglin stormed off into the trees, taking out the big orange spider thing with his blaster without even glancing at it. 

 

A few hours in had Peter with his shirt off and draped over his shoulders like a scarf. Kraglin had caved, too, stuffing his coat and shirt into his bag with a warning that if Peter didn't keep his mouth shut he'd lose one of his testicles. Yondu held out a little longer. His home planet was hot and humid and so he was built to handle this type of environment. Still, as the two suns reached their peak he huffed out a sigh and dropped his bag. Peter  _did not_ watch as he peeled his black leather coat off of his shoulders. He definitely didn't watch as Yondu tugged at his white sweat-drenched t-shirt and pulled it over his head. When his mouth became suddenly and suspiciously dry he shook his head and focused on scanning the treetops for any sign of purple foliage. It didn't escape his attention that Kraglin, too, was busy looking at anything other than their suddenly scantily clad captain. 

 

"Alright you pink idjits, let's get this over with. It's hotter than Thanos' ballsack out here," Yondu snapped when he'd finally stuffed his upper layers into his bag. He trudged on ahead of them, the blue of his skin a nearly impossible thing to avoid looking at after all the miles and miles of green. Peter couldn't help it, really. Yondu's sculpted back was a litany of tattoos and scars, a pretty picture of the rough life he'd always led. One scar stretched from his left shoulder all the way down to his right hip, a diagonal sectioning off of all that skin that made Peter itch to trace it down. He was wearing his arrow in a harness slung low on his hips, the only weapon he had brought along. 

 

He was so busy examining all the marks on Yondu's back that he didn't notice when the man stopped in his tracks. Peter grunted as his hairy chest connected with Yondu's smooth back with a truly obscene wet  _smack_. Luckily the stocky man was as strong as he looked and didn't budge. He did, however, jab Peter in the stomach with his elbow and nod his head at the patch of trees directly in front of them. Peter quickly looked up, chin nearly resting on the muscular shoulder in front of him, to see that they had finally reached their destination. He whistled quietly, looking up, up, and  _up_ to the tops of the massive purple trees. There was no way they'd reach the lower branches even if they all stood on each other's shoulders. Peter was supposed to rocket up there and see how safe it was before the other two made their way up

 

"Quit cuddlin the boss and get your skinny little Terran ass up there, Quill. We didn't bring you along to look pretty," Kraglin snapped, and Peter jumped back from Yondu as if he'd been burned.

 

Peter definitely wasn't skinny. Living with Yondu’s nearly unhinged crew had made beefing up a very urgent necessity, and over the past seven year's he'd filled out with more muscle than he knew what to do with. Kraglin called him skinny because his body was lither than the captain's, compact musculature rather than bulky. It was frequently a topic of contestation amongst them, their bickering so regular that it was really more habit than anything at this point.

 

"You're one to talk about  _skinny_  Kaglin, you look like a talking stick bug," Peter snapped, pressing the button to release his helmet and grasping his blaster. "Only uglier."

 

"Don't know what the hell a stick bug is, so shove it," Kraglin griped, but Peter barely heard him as he had already activated the little rockets on his boots and was making his way up the tree trunk. His boots weren't meant to go so high, so he ended up just blasting from branch to branch, hopping gracefully and hoping he didn't fall and snap his neck. It took maybe fifteen minutes before he reached the very top because he had to keep stopping when the less sturdy branches snapped underneath his weight. He crouched on a sturdy branch, deactivated his boots and pulled up a display of the slug thing on his mask's goggles. 

 

"I'm up, boss. It's safe. Don't see any of the bugs, though," Peter said into his communicator. 

 

"Drop the pulley for Kraglin, boy, I'm right behind ya." 

 

Sure enough, when Peter looked to the tree on his left he could see Yondu pulling himself along the trunk, hard muscles bunching and straining with effort. Hell, Peter had never seen anyone climb like that. It was actually pretty damn cool, making Yondu look like some kind of sleek jungle cat. Peter shook his head and grabbed the pulley out of his pack, tying it tightly to one of the sturdier branches and dropping it down for Kraglin. He smirked when he heard it thwack the man in the face, followed by a loud curse. Kraglin gave the cue that he'd gotten it tied to his waist and Peter pressed the button to start its slow ascent.

 

While he waited for the other men to catch up he began scanning the treetops for any sign of movement, body as still as he could manage. It wasn't until he heard Kraglin's huffy breathing as the man pulled himself onto the branch next to Peter that he saw it. There, out of the corner of his eye to the left and slightly up. He whipped his head around and reached into his bag for the cuff. 

 

"Gotcha," he mumbled, at the same time Kraglin whooped in triumph. He had clearly spotted the thing, too, as he had his cuff out and was scrambling over to it. Problem was, the thing could hear. At Kraglin's exclamation, its tiny fluffy pink head whipped around and it narrowed its eyes. 

 

Peter had a very bad feeling about that look and he stilled. "Krags, wait," he hissed through clenched teeth. Kraglin wasn't listening to him, though, and soon enough he was up a branch and closer to the eerily still creature. Yondu arrived, perching on the branch next to Peter. He spotted the bug too, and was clearly gearing to go after it.

 

Peter stopped him with a hand around his bicep and a quick shake of his head. "Something's not right. I tried to stop him, but..." 

 

They both watched, tense, as Kraglin got close to the bug, snickering in triumph. Cocky bastard. They heard the little hiss of the shackle opening and, sure enough, shit hit the fan. The creature opened its impossibly large mouth to reveal extremely sharp teeth and let out a  _wail_ , high-pitched and grating. Peter resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears, instead readying his blaster for fire. 

 

There was no time, though, for a split second later the tiny creature began to grow, larger and larger until it was easily twice Kraglin's size. Yondu groaned beside him, his arm muscles tensing up under Peter's sweaty palm. "Aw, hell." 

 

Peter thanked his lucky stars that Kraglin hadn't unclipped from the pulley as the slug slammed its massive tail into his chest and he was sent careening through the branches until he hit the tree trunk with a nasty  _crack._  No time to check on him, though. With a quick nod to each other, Peter hopped to the next branch and fired at the slug's perch and Yondu pulled himself around the back of the tree and out of sight. The slug, which Peter had decided he was going to call Mothra, suddenly reared back and spat a giant green glob right at Peter's face. He dodged it, but some of it splattered from where it hit the tree trunk next to him. Peter hissed as he felt a searing pain flare up his back. 

 

"Fuck. Careful, Yondu, the fucker's got acid spit." 

 

"Of  _course_ it does! Damnit!" 

 

Peter dodged another phlegmy ball, but Kraglin wasn't so lucky. It hit his rope and burned through it in seconds. Peter barely had time to jump out of the tree and grab the end of it before it was out of reach. He screamed as the leftover acid on the rope burned into his skin, but held tight until he could activate his boots and lower Kraglin to the ground. Yondu was yelling at him through the communicator, thick southern accent made worse by his anger. 

 

"Ya outta yer godsdamned head, boy? Fuck, jumpin' out of a tree that high, gonna break yer fool neck!" 

 

Peter grit his teeth and grimaced, using his boots to make his way back up the tree. "Didn't know you cared so much, Cap." 

 

"Shut that stupid Terran mouth boy, I swear - " 

 

Yondu was cut off by a roar from the beast and when Peter looked up he was appalled to see Yondu hanging onto the thing's back, crying out like a goddamn amazon warrior as it thrashed and screamed at him. Peter hastened his pace, ignoring the snapping branches under his boots. He moved so quickly it didn't matter. He was never on a perch long enough for it to fall out from under him, sudden panic causing his focus to sharpen to a blue bulls-eye above him.

 

He barely made it high enough before his boots ran out of juice.

 

He scrambled up the rest of the way, eyeing the scuffle for his opening. The gold cuff Yondu had been trying to attach to one of the creature's antennae flew out of his hand and out of sight and Peter groaned, taking out his own and steeling himself for a very stupid move. Yondu's arrow was whizzing around the beast, sharp whistles piercing the air, but he didn't want to kill the damn thing and the little scratches were just pissing it off more. 

 

Peter pulled himself up to a branch above the struggling Mothra and Centaurian and opened his own cuff. Before he could fully work up the courage to make the jump, Yondu was tossed from the bug's back and he had no more time. He leapt out of the tree, clasping the cuff onto the bug's feeler and swinging around the branch like an acrobat, using his momentum to propel himself down to his captain. He barely grasped Yondu's wrist in time, grabbing onto the very last branch in the tree at the last possible second. He screamed as one of his shoulders tore out of place with a sickening  _pop_ , using the last of his energy reserve to swing Yondu over so he could grab onto the tree trunk. He hoped fervently that the man would be able to catch him as his arm gave out and he started to fall. 

 

Never one to disappoint, Yondu did catch him, wrapping one thick blue arm around Peter's torso and spinning to pin him against the tree trunk before they both fell. Peter groaned in pain, head falling back to hit the bark. "Thank god you're secretly a fucking monkey," he breathed, suddenly very aware of how tightly their heaving chests were wedged together. Yondu had one leg between Peter's thighs, pinning him to the tree, and if Peter hadn't just almost died, if it were literally anyone other than the captain he'd been holding a torch for since he was fourteen, he'd be leering at the position. 

 

Yondu groaned, body shaking with excess adrenaline, and dropped his head onto Peter's uninjured shoulder. "We lost the stupid fucking - " 

 

He was cut off as the bug in question dropped onto his own shoulder, tiny and harmless looking once again. Peter quickly snatched it up and pulled the cuff from where it rested on the thing's head like an absurd crown. Once he'd secured the cuff around Mothra’s neck he held it up between them for his captain to see. "You were saying?"

 

Yondu laughed, staring at Peter in wonder, like he’d never really looked at him before. After a moment spent searching Peter’s face, something changed in his eyes and he let out another chuckle. It was different though from his usual sharp raspy bark of a laugh, dark and deep in a way that sent involuntary shivers down Peter's spine. Peter's eyes were drawn down to blue lips as a deeper blue tongue darted out to wet them and his breath hitched. Peter felt his chest flush with heat and just  _knew_ his pupils were blown. The hell was this?

 

Yondu smirked at him in a way he never had before, sexy and teasing, trailing the fingers of the hand holding Peter along the scar on his side. 

 

“What are you doing, Yondu?” Peter asked, arching slightly into the touch. That scar had always been sensitive, but none of his lovers had ever dared to touch it quite like that. Yondu stroked it with a possessive boldness, as if he knew what it was doing to Peter. Peter felt heady, pain at the back of his hazy mind for just a moment.

 

Yondu chuckled and dropped his head to breathe in Peter’s ear. “Dunno. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, hm?”

 

Kraglin groaned into the communicators, his pain-filled exhale jerking Yondu and Peter out of the moment so fast Peter thought he was going to have to add whiplash to his growing list of injuries. Yondu let out a breath, captainly demeanor in place before Peter could blink, and assessed the situation, noting the growing purple lump on Peter's shoulder. "Alright, we gotta get down now. That shoulder ain't gonna do squat for you, so we're gonna do something... different. I swear, boy, you ever tell anyone about this and I'll eat you, y'hear?"

 

Peter shivered. Yondu had threatened to eat him more times than he could count, but after that hot little moment Peter wasn't sure he'd ever be able to hear that in a non-sexual way again. Yondu smirked like he knew exactly how Peter was taking that particular comment. Peter glared and shoved Mothra into the zipper pocket on his pouch, gasping when the movement jarred his injured shoulder. Taking cues from Yondu, he managed to pull himself onto the man's back, wrapping his thighs around a thick waist. He draped his uninjured arm over Yondu's shoulder and signaled that he was ready. 

 

It turned out that Yondu had been using spikes to cling to the tree so effectively, three protruding from each toe of his boots, and one strapped to each of his palms. Peter counted himself lucky that he hadn't been impaled when Yondu caught him, noting that the one on the hand he'd been gripping Peter with had been turned the other way. Yondu grunted as he made his way down the tree, much less graceful with Peter clinging to his back like that. "Yer a lot heavier than ya were three years ago, boy." 

 

"Not a boy anymore, Yondu," Peter husked in the other man's ear, voice sultry in a way that had gotten him many bed partners over the years.

 

 It was a bluff, really.

 

No matter how much Peter wanted to sleep with his captain there were  _so many_ reasons why he couldn't. Not least of which was the fact that he was rapidly losing any energy he had left. His shoulder was screaming at him, and his hands and back still felt like they were on fire from Mothra's spit. He rested his head on Yondu's back with a pained groan.

 

Yondu chuckled. "No, I s'pose you're not." 

 

When they finally reached the ground, Yondu instructed Peter to lay flat on his back while he went to make sure Kraglin was still alive. Peter did, grunting with the effort. He wasn't sure if his shoulder or his back were in more pain, but he was damn sure that he needed some kind of pain meds or he'd never be able to sleep his injuries off. Kraglin was with Yondu when he made his way back over to Peter, blood trailing down his back from what had to be a nasty head wound. 

 

"Damn, Kraglin, you can't afford more knocks to the head like that! You're dumb enough as it his," Peter quipped, huffing out a laugh when Kraglin gave him the finger. 

 

"You look like shit, Quill," the smaller man said, blunt as ever. 

 

"You try saving your scrawny ass, getting hit with acid spit, and falling out of a tree! See how  _you_ look after that shit," Peter snapped as Yondu knelt down on his chest and picked up his injured arm. 

 

Yondu took off his belt and shoved the leather bit in Peter's mouth. "Bite that. This is gonna hurt like hell, Petey, no gettin around that." 

 

Holy hell, did it hurt.

 

Yondu slowly pulled Peter's arm back, pushing Peter's chest down with his knees, until Peter thought the man was going to rip the appendage clean off. Then,  _finally,_ he heard a loud  _click_ and groaned as he felt his shoulder pop into place. Yondu allowed him a few minutes to breathe before he took the belt out of his mouth (there were definite indents from Peter's teeth) and stood, pulling Peter up with him by his good arm. The pain was immediately less, and he decided that, yeah, his back and hands were in more pain than his shoulder. When he looked down at said hands he winced at the bubbling, oozing welts. He did  _not_ want to know what his back looked like. 

 

"Shit, Peter, you should see your back," Kraglin exclaimed unhelpfully. "Shame you didn't have your coat on, huh?" 

 

Peter flipped him the bird and started making his way back to the ship, eager to try and wash off his wounds. Kraglin cackled behind him once before Yondu smacked his naked chest and reminded him that half those wounds came from saving his fool ass and he'd do well to show some gratitude.

 

 Kraglin took his words to heart and, when they returned to the ship, spent a good two hours tending to Peter's wounds, flushing out what was left of the acid, applying ointment, and wrapping them up in surprisingly sterile white bandages. Peter was equal parts relieved and disappointed that it was Kraglin and not Yondu taking on the task. On the one hand, he really wouldn't mind those long blue fingers on him again. On the other, he wasn't sure if he was ready to deal with the feelings the inevitable end of that scenario would bring up. Whatever the case, Peter was clean, bandaged, and hopped up on pain meds in no time, drifting off to sleep with his face buried in his own coat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! This thing is becoming a monster. I can't believe how long it is already!


	4. Hooked on a Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best ever! Your reviews make me so happy. Thanks for sticking around <3

They arrived on Xandar forty-eight hours later. Peter had slept the entire time, with the exception of getting up to use the restroom and to let Kraglin change his bandages. While he wouldn’t say he was feeling good he would say that he no longer felt like someone had flayed his back and palms. He examined the bandages still wrapping up his hands and smirked as he was reminded of his childhood idol, Rocky Balboa. 

(He remembered how once, when he was eight or nine, he’d taken out the little folded up picture he kept of Rocky and showed it to one of the crew. He said that it was his father, but he hadn’t been around much when Peter was growing up on Terra because he was a boxing champion and had to travel all over the world for work. He’d told so many of his schoolmates the lie to their little childlike amazement that he just could not understand why the guy had walked away shaking his head and laughing.)

Peter shrugged on his coat and made his way up to the cockpit, trying to ignore the way the skin on his back pulled when he turned. He really hoped he didn’t end up looking like someone had taken a meat tenderizer to his back by the time he was healed up. Kraglin had assured him that the ointment was meant to prevent burn scarring, but with how tight his flank was feeling at the moment he didn’t feel very optimistic.

He grabbed some kind of pink fruit on his way through the kitchen, taking a huge slurpy bite of the sweet flesh in lieu of a greeting when he reached the front of the ship. Yondu turned and offered him his usual shit-eating grin, but Kraglin was focused on the task at hand, or else pretending Peter didn’t exist. Peter was willing to put money on the latter. He and Kraglin had a very comfortable dynamic in which they gave each other never ending shit and would never, even at the threat of death, admit that they cared for each other. It was probably making him all sorts of uncomfortable that he'd spent so much time tenderly caring for Peter's wounds the other day. 

Peter loved when Kraglin was uncomfortable. 

A dribble of juice ran down his chin and cut a path over his throat, and there was no way Peter could miss the way Yondu’s crimson eyes followed the trail. He wiped the sticky juice off his throat with his finger and resisted the urge to suggestively suck it off, reminding himself again of the million reasons why sleeping with Yondu was, in reality, A Very Bad Idea. He may have been fantasizing about it for years, but in all that time he'd never seriously entertained the idea that it could actually happen. The fact that it was looking more and more like a possibility had him feeling like that terrified eighteen-year-old kid again.

“How long till we land?” he asked Kraglin. He was relieved when Yondu turned away to focus on the holo display in front of him.

“Five minutes, just about,” Kraglin replied. Then, acting as if the words were being forcibly torn out of his throat, “How are you feeling?”

Peter laughed and leaned on the back of Kraglin’s chair. “Aw, Krags, it’s so sweet that you care!”

“Shut up, Quill, I don’t care. I just wanna know you’re not going to fuck up this delivery by passing out like some girl.”

Peter grinned, affection for his weird friend filling his chest. “Don’t worry, I’m Star-Lord, remember? Men as bad ass as me don’t faint!”

“S’not what I heard from the boss…” Kraglin mumbled, maneuvering their ship down to the surface.

“What! Yondu! I can’t believe you told him that.” Peter resisted the urge to smack his captain in the back of the head, barely. “I was literally dying of blood loss from saving your stupid ass.”

“Wouldn’ta needed savin’ if you hadn’t stormed into that vault without knowing what was behind them doors,” Yondu sniffed, turning off the holo and using his thumbnail to pick at one of his teeth.

Peter threw his hands in the air, dramatic as always. “I was eighteen, for Christ’s sake!”

The ship landed without a sound, Kraglin’s skill behind the helm speaking for itself. Kraglin smirked at him as he stood. Then, the little shit, mimed a fainting spell with a dainty little sigh.

“Dick,” Peter mumbled, turning around to stomp out of the ship.

Kraglin’s snorting laughter followed him all the way down the ramp.

\-------------

 

The Broker’s shop was surprisingly sparse. Peter had been in more pawn shops across the galaxy than he could count and never had one been so empty. He wondered idly what big baddie the Broker was actually working for. 

Yondu was eyeing a little pink sloth figurine as he made his way up to the proprietor, eyes gleaming in that way they did when he spotted a new cute little bauble he wanted to add to his collection. Its body was made out of some kind of semi-translucent gem, and its little bulging white eyes seemed to be smooth opal.

As Yondu traded Mothra in, trying to haggle more money out of the Broker due to how much hassle the thing had caused, Peter knelt down to see the price on the figure. Ten thousand units. He whistled lightly and stood up, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Well, maybe if you woulda warned us that this little thing turned into a goddamn poisonous giant we coulda come better prepared!” Yondu was snarling.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t research, and I – “

Peter smirked as the Broker was cut off by a high-pitched whistle. He didn’t need to look to know that Yondu’s arrow was glowing an angry red at the man’s throat. That was the hazard of hiring hot-tempered ravagers to do your work. They were damn good at what they did, but hell if they were going to take any shit from you.

“Alright, alright perhaps I should have given you a warning. Will another three thou – “ A sharp whistle from Yondu, a choked back gasp from the Broker. “Five thousand, then. Really, Udonta, that’s more than reasonable.”

Peter turned to see Yondu with his head cocked to the side, stroking his chin as if in thought. The Broker was bent backward over a countertop, gleaming arrow so close to his throat that even swallowing looked hazardous, and Kraglin was standing behind his captain trying to contain a smirk.

They made the man sweat it out for a second longer before Yondu’s face broke out into a grin and he clapped his hands together. A short whistle had his arrow flying back into its holster, and the Broker breathed out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Why thanks much, that’ll do just fine,” Yondu drawled. “Great doing business with y’all, as always.”

Once the units had been transferred over the three of them left the shop, Peter tossing the Broker a very unappreciated wink over his shoulder as he made his way out the door. The plan was to spend the day on Xandar, refueling and restocking their supplies before they made their way back to the Eclector. There was nothing Peter wanted to do more, though, than take a short hot shower and fall back into bed. The downside of his accelerated healing was that the process always took a lot out of him and he was definitely feeling the strain his body was under trying to heal up all the injuries he’d sustained on A-Chittar III. When they reached their ship Kraglin started on the checklist and Peter made his excuses, heading off to the back for a much-needed cleaning.

The hot water, short-lived as it was, was a blessing and a curse. He hissed as it burned over the wound on his back, the burn over-sensitive to the heat, but it also soothed the ache of muscles which were still tense from the fight. He rested his head on the wall and allowed the water to wash over him until the auto shut-off kicked in five minutes later.

The swelling on his violently purple shoulder had begun to go down and for that Peter was grateful. When he turned to get a look at his flank he saw that the ointment had started to do its work, too. The wound was a big scabby mess, peppered over his back like paint splatter, but scabs meant healing. He decided to leave the bandages off to let it breathe while he slept. He tossed the used towel over the head of the shower and made his way out of the bathroom with a sigh.

Yondu was waiting for him outside his quarters, leaning on the doorframe with one boot pressed to the wall behind him. Peter didn’t let his surprise show when he stopped in front of his captain and crossed his arms over his naked chest. “What’s up, Yondu?”

“How’s those burns doin?” Yondu asked in lieu of a reply, setting his foot down and pushing himself off the wall. It was unlike Yondu to ask how one of his men was feeling after an injury, and the inquiry put Peter on edge. He raised an eyebrow and started to push past Yondu to get into his room. “I’m fine, Yondu. Been hurt worse before.”

Peter stiffened when he felt Yondu come up behind him, crowding in close. Hot fingertips ghosted down his spine, just close enough to his wounds to make his skin tingle. Yondu’s breath ghosted over his ear, and Peter could feel his captain’s body, like the tiny amount of space between them was charged with energy.

“Yondu, what – “

He was cut off as Yondu gripped him by the shoulders and spun him around, moving in so close that Peter had to back himself against the wall to prevent full body contact. The cool metal was jarring on his hot wounds, causing him to arch slightly forward and, oh, there was Yondu, so close that Peter’s whole body felt feverish.

Yondu gripped his hip with bruising force and Peter was torn between being immediately and insanely turned on and irritation at being manhandled.

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy, you know what I want,” Yondu hissed, carding one hand though the ginger hair at the nape of Peter’s neck and giving it a little tug. Peter groaned, low in his throat and Yondu gave his hair another experimental pull.

“Yondu, we shouldn’t,” Peter choked out.

“’We shouldn’t’ and ‘I don’t want to’ are very different things, boy,” Yondu rasped, his fingertips digging into Peter’s hips so hard he knew he’d have five little bruises there the next day. Even that thought made his blood burn, and he had no idea how much he liked being manhandled until that moment, but fuck he was never going to be able to forget it after.

“We shouldn’t,” Peter whispered, unable to lie and becoming less sure of his convictions the longer he stood with that incredible heat seeping into his skin.

Yondu apparently took Peter’s answer as consent and, with a deep little grunt that went straight to Peter’s cock, yanked on the hair between his fingers and brought their mouths crashing together.

It wasn’t so much a kiss as it was an almost violent clashing of teeth and lips. Yondu pushed him roughly into the wall, causing Peter to gasp into his open mouth in pleasure/pain. His hands were everywhere, rough fingers digging into his flesh, sharp nails scraping down his spine. Peter was panting in seconds, surging forward and pressing his tongue forcefully into Yondu’s mouth.

Ravagers were not known for their submission, and this apparently didn't really change in the bedroom. The kiss was a powerplay, hot and dirty and more perfect than Peter had ever imagined and fuck this was one of those reasons for why this was A Very Bad Idea. Because ravagers didn't submit, and ravagers didn't do emotions, but as those rough blue lips opened under his Peter was on the verge of breaking both of those unspoken rules. 

Yondu’s breath was sour, his tongue was rough like fine sandpaper, and his sharp teeth kept nipping painfully at Peter’s lips and tongue. Peter’s face was already chaffing with stubble burn and, oh god, he’d never experienced anything more perfect. Yondu arched into him when Peter yanked his shirt up and dug his fingers greedily into the blue flesh underneath, grunting again and pulling their hips together so that Peter could feel just how much Yondu wanted him.

“Fuck, Yondu,” Peter gasped out between the press of lips and Yondu chuckled low in his throat.

“That’s the idea, Petey.”

Peter couldn’t take it anymore, needed to feel more of that skin he’d been dreaming about for half his life. He yanked Yondu’s jacket off his shoulders, dropping it unceremoniously to the ground before flipping their positions and shoving his captain forcefully into the wall. His implant connected with the metal with a clank and he growled. Peter didn’t care, couldn’t think beyond the throbbing of his cock and his hands pressing into that cerulean flesh.

He pushed open the door to his room and crowded Yondu inside, breaking the kiss to yank the other man’s shirt over his head. Yondu may have been shorter than Peter, but he had always been stronger, and he used that strength to push Peter back, back until his legs connected with the short desk. Then, muscles bunching with the surge of strength, he grasped Peter’s thighs with both hands and lifted him back onto the table.

This was wrong, wrong, wrong, and Peter knew it. He’d never felt so out of control in this type of situation, never even considered being pushed around like this, but now it had him feeling so hot he thought was going to drown in it. Yondu nipped at Peter’s lip and he could tell it had drawn blood because he could taste copper on that rough tongue when it met his next.

He yanked Yondu closer by the hem on his pants, moaning low in his throat when his ass was grasped between two firm hands. He was just sliding Yondu’s zipper down, just getting to what he really needed, when Kraglin’s voice crackled over the intercom and he stilled.

“Uh, Cap’n?”

Yondu growled in frustration, slamming his fist on the comm button with more force than was strictly necessary. “The fuck do you want Kraglin? I’m kinda busy here!”

“Just wanted to give you a heads up that there’s about four Nova ships headed our way, sir. They’ve ordered us to surrender.”

 

Yondu let out a shaky sigh, dropping his head to rest on Peter’s heaving chest before he answered. “Alright, I’ll be right there. Prepare to move out and head for the nearest jump.”

“Aye, Cap,” Kraglin chirped, and then the comm shut off and Peter heard the engines coming online.

Peter squirmed, still hot, still unbelievably aroused, fighting the urge to say fuck it all and get dragged into prison with that hot blue mouth wrapped around him because, Christ, this was the hottest thing he’d ever done. Yondu was quicker to recover, smirking at Peter’s dazed expression and leaning in for one more bruising kiss. Peter arched into his hand when it ran once up his length through his pants, and then that wild heat was gone and Yondu was pulling on his shirt and Peter was left bereft.

“Best pull yourself together, boy, and meet us on the bridge,” Yondu was saying as he tucked his still hard cock into his waistband and gingerly zipped his pants up. “No idea why them fuckers are after us this time. I swear, you try to be an upstanding citizen for once and look at all the thanks you get!”

Peter cleared his throat guiltily at that and reached over to where he’d slung his coat over the desk chair. “Uh, that’s probably my fault this time.”

“The hell do you mean it’s your fault?” Yondu snapped, hand on the door.

Peter held up the little sloth figurine he’d seen Yondu eyeing earlier, shrugging sheepishly. It sparkled in the sunlight coming in through the window, sending little pink-tinged rainbows cascading over Yondu’s face. Yondu blinked and cocked his head to the side and Peter swallowed.

“Well, I saw you looking at it and I know how you like to collect these little guys. I didn’t think he’d notice, to be honest, it was on a bottom shelf and I was real careful. Only took out the smallest piece of glass and - “ Yondu cut off his nervous rambling with a hard kiss, tongue slipping in like the sweetest reward Peter had ever gotten.

When he pulled away a second later he had the sloth in his hand, and Peter had no clue as to how he’d taken it. “Sentimental idiot,” Yondu said, rolling his eyes. Peter didn’t miss the way he slipped the sloth into his pocket though. 

When his door had clicked shut he dropped his head into his hands with a shaky sigh. 

He was so incredibly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never hesitated to leave reviews, even if you've left one for a previous chapter! I absolutely live to know what you all think of this!


	5. Come and Get Your Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this is shamelessly self-indulgent but I regret nothing! Also, yay for some actual plot!
> 
> Also, if you're reading this and thinking, hey, what the hell that's totally out of character for Yondu then you're completely right! You'll just have to stick around to figure out his reasoning ;)

 It had been two weeks since Yondu had sought Peter out. Two weeks since Peter had felt that unbelievable heat, the sloppy wet slide of lips and tongue. He had replayed the moment over and over and over until his head spun and his wrist was too sore to keep thinking about it, and he knew already that it was never going to be enough. If you asked him, at gunpoint, there was no way he could decide whether he was more relieved or frustrated that Yondu hadn't approached him again. Because while he wanted to taste his captain again so badly he sometimes thought he was going to fall apart from it, he still had one foot firmly planted in camp "Sleeping With Yondu is a Terrible Plan."  

 

He'd love to say that Yondu hadn't come to him because they'd been too busy, been apart on different missions too often, had too much to deal with. Sure, all of that was true. They'd had a veritable avalanche of incoming work the past few weeks and none of the jobs had been worth sparing two people so, yeah, they'd been away from the ship quite a lot. Still, there had also been plenty of downtime in which the captain could have sought him out as he had before. He just... hadn't.

 

Peter turned his attention to the man in question, lounging in the captain's chair with one foot on the ground and the other sprawled over the chair's arm. He was scrolling lazily through their potential jobs on a holo display resting in his lap. Every once in a while he'd flick one off to the side of the screen, rolling his eyes at whatever ridiculous job request he was rejecting. The boring aspect of being a captain happened like this, late during the ship's night when there was no one up but the skeleton crew. Peter's job at this time was to go through their digital inventory and make note of the things they were going to need to stock up on soon. 

 

The problem was that it was always so incredibly  _boring_ and, as usual, he was unable to keep his attention off of his captain for more than a few minutes. The only other person on the bridge was Kraglin and he was busy plotting their course for the next port so at least there was no one there to witness Peter brooding over Yondu like a teenage girl.

 

Not for the first time he wondered if Yondu had found him lacking during their brief interlude. Peter wasn't one to be self-conscious about his performance in the sack but this was _Yondu_ , who had twenty years of experience on him and whose tawdry bedroom affairs were often the topic of raunchy conversation among the crew. Peter was also man enough to admit (at least to himself) that he'd never done anything sexual with someone he had real _feelings_ for. Whether the feelings he had buried in his chest for Yondu were that of a deep trusting friendship or something entirely different he didn't know, but he did know that he most definitely felt more for his captain than he was supposed to. Yondu had given him somewhere to go, somewhere to call home again when he lost his pitiful excuse for a family and over the years they'd become such an inseparable team that Peter had long ago given up keeping track of who had saved whom more. He trusted Yondu more than any other person in the galaxy, and it didn't matter whether that trust stemmed from friendship or something else because Ravagers were not supposed to truly trust _anyone._

 

Peter was still contemplatively watching as Yondu shifted in his chair, sliding down further and spreading his legs wider and if Peter hadn't been staring before he sure as hell was now. The shift in position had done wonderful things for the picture sitting before him. His pants had pulled taught over his crotch, leaving little to Peter's admittedly active imagination, and his shirt had hiked up slightly, a strip of vibrant blue flesh just visible above his navel. Peter's mouth started to water and he swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He watched as Yondu trailed a hand absently down his chest, watched as it slipped down to lightly stroke the bared flesh. He was still paying rapt attention as that hand slipped _lower_  until it was resting on the bulge between his thighs. Breathing had suddenly become more difficult for Peter, and he was just wondering what cruel kind of joke the world was playing on him when that slowly wandering hand gave the object of his attention one long, languid stroke.

 

Peter's eyes snapped up and were met with half-lidded ruby red irises. The dirty smirk on Yondu's lips told Peter that, no, that incredibly enticing position had been anything but accidental. Yondu was _toying_ with him. Peter's eyes were drawn back down as Yondu's hips gave a tiny little jerk into that rubbing hand and he felt his own hips trying to move in response. When his long blue fingers started to slip under the waistband of those tight leather pants Peter made a very embarrassing noise in the back of his throat and lurched to his feet. He was out the door in seconds, but he could still hear Yondu's dark chuckle echoing down the hall after him. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

"Alright, boys, you know how this goes," Yondu started, voice carrying through the barracks. He was standing on one of the tables, legs spread and hands on his hips in what Peter privately referred to as his Peter Pan stance. He commanded attention, as always, with the arrow he had strapped into a harness slung low on his hips. To anyone who knew him that exposure was a clear signal to sit the fuck up and pay attention, and the men were doing that about as well as a room full of hyped-up space pirates were able to. They were paying attention, anyway, but the ever present restless energy among them was still obvious in the little outbreaks of scuffles, the shifting feet, the absent clutching of weapons. 

 

"You got twenty-four hours on Contraxia before this ship leaves port with or without you. I don't care if the priciest bot they got here has her lips wrapped around yer pecker. You get on this ship within twenty-four hours or I leave you, understand?" 

 

Peter agreed with the rest of them before joining the surge to get down onto the planet. If he didn't get a chance to blow off some steam he was liable to literally burst from the pent-up frustration. Because the bridge display wasn't the last time Yondu had mercilessly teased Peter. Oh no. After the bridge had come the mess hall, in which Yondu had spent thirty minutes with his thigh pressed flush against Peter's, thirty minutes spent toying with more phallic shaped foods and utensils than Peter even knew existed on the ship. Peter excused himself shortly after the torran root had slipped between those pretty blue lips, ignoring that increasingly familiar dark chuckle. 

 

After the mess hall had come the showers, and then the bridge again, and after two weeks of similar torture Peter was ready to get his rocks off with the next semi-humanoid being he came into contact with dirt side. The thing was that Peter knew what Yondu was doing. Sometime between the first bridge incident and the shower scene he'd realized that Yondu wasn't just being an asshole or a tease. He was waiting for Peter to make the next move, trying to break him, playing a dirty teasing little game he thought could only end in one way. Peter knew that there was no way in hell he was going to be doing that, knew there was no way he was going to be approaching the other man no matter how tempting it was looking. He felt entirely too strongly for Yondu, was way too invested already, and he knew if he crossed that line he'd be lost. Lost in those types of emotions was not somewhere any Ravager wanted to be. Add a prickly, short-tempered, notoriously promiscuous captain into the mix and you had a recipe for the biggest shit storm this side of the Milky Way.

 

The first thing Peter did when he stepped off the ship was find the biggest, loudest, dirtiest bar in sight (that was a hefty title on Contraxia) and order two shots of the strongest drink they had. It smoked in the glass and burned like acid going down and Peter had ordered two more before the bartender had a chance to move on to the next customer. Sometime later he was bringing his sixth glass to his lips when someone reached over and plucked it right out of his hand. 

 

"You drink much more of this they're gonna be scraping your sorry ass off the streets come morning," Yondu said, tossing the drink back himself and licking his lips with a wet _smack_. 

 

Peter groaned and dropped his head onto the bar, an admittedly poor decision considering how dirty the place probably was. With a disgusted grunt, he pulled his head up and sat straight. He was already more than a little tipsy, and so incredibly frustrated. The combination was, apparently, bad for his brain to mouth filter. "Can't you just leave me alone for a day? I can't take this anymore, man." 

 

He was too weary to pull away when he felt Yondu's body slide onto the stool next to his, too tired to shrug it off when one thick arm draped over his shoulders. "S'not me who's makin' this harder'n it should be, Petey." 

 

Peter snorted out a little laugh, head spinning from the alcohol. "Ha. Harder." 

 

He was no longer laughing when, a second later, Yondu's large hand landed on his knee. He was definitely not laughing as that hand snuck over and ran slowly up his inseam. "Yondu..." 

 

"C'mon. Been waitin' for you, boy." Peter swallowed thickly at the feeling those lips brushing against his neck sent down his spine. "I don't wait around for people. Plenty of others out there, but I got you under my skin. Like an itch I need to scratch." 

 

Yondu's nails dug into Peter's thigh and his hips jerked forward of their own volition and, fuck it, Peter turned sharply in his stool and dragged Yondu onto his lap in the same motion and their lips met in a savage clash. Yondu laughed in that goddamn infuriating way and dug his nails into Peter's back and Peter groaned. Someone made a disgruntled noise behind him and moved down the bar but it didn't matter because all of his senses were focused on the hips grinding down into his, the ragged breaths being huffed into his mouth, the little growling noise Yondu made when Peter slipped his hands under his shirt and dug his fingers into his hips. 

 

"Hey! This look like a goddamn brothel to you jackasses? Take it outside!" 

 

They didn't listen, too caught up in hands and lips and tongues and teeth. This was fucking _Contraxia._ Everyone here had seen worse, and honestly, Peter was ready to bend Yondu over the bar, ready to be bent over the bar, ready for literally anything that would relieve his pent up tension. He slipped his hands down the back of Yondu's pants and _squeezed_ , pulling him impossibly closer and Yondu tugged on his hair, drawing a deep groan from Peter's throat. Yondu's tongue was busy mapping out his teeth, the rough slide peppered with just-this-side of too hard nips to his lips and why had Peter been resisting this again? 

 

"Look, buddy, you need to take this somewhere else before I call in the bouncer. There's a cheap hotel right next door so - " 

 

Yondu pulled away from Peter's mouth, chest heaving, long enough to let out a sharp little whistle. Peter heard a bottle shatter on the floor and took that as his cue to take the bartender's advice. The things Peter wanted to do to Yondu were becoming increasingly obscene, anyway, and he decided that a seedy hotel room and copious amounts of lube were in order. He stood, ignoring Yondu's protests as he was dropped out of his lap. He slapped a few units onto the bar, not bothering to check how many, and pulled Yondu out of the building by his collar. Yondu seemed to get the idea and enthusiastically called his arrow back before falling in step behind Peter and grabbing onto his hips. It was an awkward way to walk, but Peter relished the contact, relished the way those sharp teeth nipped at his shoulders, relished the way that every few steps he could feel Yondu's length pressing against his ass like a filthy promise. 

 

He was, obviously, distracted, and didn't notice the man standing just outside the door until he'd run face-first into him. 

 

"Shit, sorry man, I didn't... didn't..." Peter trailed off, at a sudden loss for words, because the scowling face of the man he'd run into was one he was sure he was never going to see again.

 

 Peter felt his arousal drain out of him along with all of his color and he didn't think he'd ever sobered up so quickly in his life. Talon looked just as surprised to see Peter as Peter was to see him, but his surprise morphed into barely contained fury in seconds when he glanced over at Yondu. Peter had no idea why Yondu inspired more anger in Talon than he did. They'd spent twelve years at each other's throats, and the last time Peter had seen Talon the man had been absolutely positive that Peter had betrayed them all. So why did his eyes slide over Peter like his existence barely mattered and land on Yondu with a heaviness that was almost palpable?

 

"Well, fuck," Yondu breathed out, all humor gone. 

 

"Udonta," Talon sneered. 

 

Peter bristled, the urge to defend his captain stronger than his surprise or confusion. "Look, we don't want any trouble. You just go your way, we'll just go ours. No one needs to get hurt." 

 

Talon turned his sneer on Peter, mechanical eye whirring in its socket. "Shut up, Quill, no one here has time to talk to traitor filth like you. You're lucky the captain isn't here or you'd be dead." 

 

Even after all these years, the mention of Stakar sent a pang through Peter. He'd never stopped missing him, never stopped wondering what had happened after he'd been exiled. He should probably be angry at him, should probably have buried his hurt under layers of anger like Yondu had, like any Ravager would, but if he was learning anything about himself lately it was that his weird moral and emotional compass pointed much closer to north than his upbringing dictated. It was probably a Terran thing, really. 

 

At least he knew Stakar was alive now at any rate. 

 

"I know it's real fucking hard for you, but can you try to not be a complete asshole for once in your life?" Peter snapped, clenching his fists. 

 

Talon snarled and stepped forward, clearly ready for a fight, and Peter had enough built up baggage weighing him down that he was very ready to beat the shit out of this blast from his past. They were both stopped when Yondu placed a hard hand on Peter's shoulder and pulled him back. "Quill, you need to go back to the ship." 

 

"Excuse me? Yondu, this - " 

 

A sharp little whistle made the words die in Peter's throat and his heart felt like it had stopped in his chest. During all of the years he'd spent on Yondu's ship, after all of the crazy stupid shit he'd done, he'd _never_ been threatened with the arrow. He'd taken a punch in the gut, a boot to his chest, sure, but not once had that slim Yaka touched his flesh in warning like it was now. Peter's eyes narrowed as Yondu roughly grabbed his collar and brought his face close in a display of dominance. 

 

"You questioning your captain, boy?" Yondu hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. 

 

This was exactly fucking why Peter had been avoiding the resolution of all that sexual tension, exactly why he'd kept himself out of temptation. _This,_ right here, the complete 180 from sultry and sexy and equal to I am your captain and you are nothing to me. He may have been raised a Ravager, but he was too goddamn emotional to get himself into these situations. He'd learned that from Stakar, learned why Stakar never got close to his men, never slept with a single person on his ship because you absolutely could not afford to find yourself accidentally attached to someone on your crew. If he'd never given in, if he'd never crossed the line between him and Yondu this wouldn't instill such a sense of betrayal in him. It wouldn't make his heart clench in that way that told him he needed to back the hell away right the fuck now and close himself off because this was _dangerous_ territory he had been slipping into. 

 

Peter swallowed his outrage, barely, and turned his eyes away. "No, sir." 

 

He didn't see the way Yondu's eyes roved his face, taking in every emotion Peter had never learned to close off. He didn't see the way Yondu clenched his teeth, didn't see the way his eyes hardened when Peter finally managed to shutter his feelings and effect the blank Ravager look he'd been unable to obtain his whole life. "There's a good boy. Now you just get on back to the ship like I said. Two days of cleaning duty, for your insolence." 

 

Peter glared at the ground, not daring to look up, too angry and frustrated to do anything but turn on his heel and stomp back to the ship. 

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

It was hours later, as Peter was scrubbing out the vile floor of one of the shower stalls, that Yondu finally made his way back to the ship. He heard the door to the bathroom open, heard the stomp of boots every crew member had trained himself to recognize and knew his captain was in the room with him. Peter was very prepared to ignore him, righteous indignation coloring his movements as he scrubbed with enough vigor to chip off a piece of paint. He was ready to let the man leave without a word until he saw out of the corner of his eye that Yondu was limping. When he stood and took a step closer to the man he noticed other things, too, like the bruising of his eye and the blood on his shirt. He had a sore at each corner of his mouth, which Peter realized to his horror was from some sort of gag. It wasn't the first time someone had used a gag to prevent Yondu's deadly whistle, but it was the first time Peter or Kraglin hadn't been there to get him out of it so he could get his bloody revenge.

 

 The worst part, though, was when Yondu realized he wasn't alone and turned to look at Peter. On the other side of his face and skull were long, thin, bloody scratches, a crisscrossing pattern that looked incredibly deliberate. Peter remembered Talon threatening him when he was younger with a long stiletto knife the man kept in his boot. He still had a scar from it, in fact, the long thin puckered mark stretching from his armpit to his elbow. Stakar had been livid, but Peter had refused to say who had done it in an effort to appear less weak and so Talon had never been punished for it. From the amount of fluid pouring out of the wounds on Yondu's face, running over his cheeks and neck to seep under the collar of his shirt, Peter realized that they had to be fairly deep. He had no doubt that Talon was responsible for this.

 

"Jesus! Fuck, Yondu, what the hell did he do to you?" 

 

He grabbed up one of the clean rags from his basket of supplies and rushed over to his captain, ire with the man forgotten in the face of all of that blood. He was going to fucking kill Talon, going to rip that metal eye from his smirking face and shove it down his goddamn throat until he choked to death on it. Fucked up sexual tension or not, Yondu was his captain and his friend and to see him in this condition shocked Peter, made him see red.  He was reaching up to put the cloth gingerly onto Yondu's face so he could wipe the blood off and assess the damage when Yondu smacked his hand away. 

 

"Leave me alone, Quill." 

 

"Come on, I've cleaned worse than this off of you. Let me - " 

 

"I said leave me alone!" Yondu snapped in his captain's voice, the one you didn't ignore if you didn't want to find yourself worse than dead. Peter took a step back. 

 

What the fuck? Peter had _always_ cleaned up Yondu's wounds, had always washed them and stitched him back together after a job gone wrong. He'd even once picked glass out of Yondu's ass when he'd come back worse for wear from a bar fight. Yondu was erecting a barrier between them, and fuck if Peter knew why. Four hours ago he'd been pliant and supple in his arms, grinding down like he was going to die if he didn't get into Peter's pants and now he was glaring at him as if they were goddamn strangers. Well fuck this shit. Hurt, but unwilling to show vulnerability, Peter shuttered his expression, shrugged and dropped the rag to the floor before making his way silently out of the room. 

 

As he made his way down the hall he heard the loud metal bang of his supply bucket flying across the room and crashing into the wall. The sound echoed along with Yondu's livid shout and Peter winced. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, there's more to this story than shameless sexy make-out scenes! Strap yourselves in because we're about to crash into a real-life plot-line. 
> 
> As always, your feedback fuels me! Thanks for being amazing :D


	6. Go All the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo! This bad boy is getting long. Thanks for sticking around, guys! You're the best <3

Peter couldn't sleep. He rolled over for what felt like the fiftieth time, kicking Halfnut in the back so he could stretch his legs out. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened earlier, couldn't keep his mind off of Talon and Yondu and the blood dripping down Yondu's face. He was still pissed at Yondu for threatening him, for treating him like a grunt five seconds after he'd made him feel like his equal, but, hell, he'd known all along that it would turn out like that. Hence why he'd been telling himself for years to keep it in his goddamn pants. No, he was still angry, but outweighing that anger by a mile was worry because something very bad had just happened to someone he cared for very much. Not only that, but Peter had a nagging little feeling poking at the back of his mind that kept saying _something isn't right here_. Something about this situation stank more than Taserface's rancid breath. The way Talon had looked at Yondu, like Yondu had betrayed him, like he knew him, like he had something against him personally. Except the only history they had together was supposed to be ancient and there was definitely something fresh going on in that look. And then Yondu Udonta, fucking wild and angry and famously hot-tempered Yondu Udonta, coming back beaten and tortured and the whole planet of Contraxia hadn't been razed to the ground? 

 

 

 

Peter huffed and sat up, rubbing his eyes in frustration. Something was really fucking wrong here, and there was no way he was going to be able to rest until he figured out what. He quietly pulled on his boots and shrugged his coat over his shoulders before standing up and slinging on his satchel. A quick pat-down assured him that he had all of his weapons, and then he was sneaking through the sea of snoring bodies, putting all of the stealth training he'd gotten from Martinex (one of the Stakar's most trusted captains) to work so he didn't end up waking everyone and alerting Yondu to his plan. Because even Peter knew it was a stupid fucking plan, but he'd never been able to just let things go and, hey, sometimes there was just no point in fighting your nature.

 

They weren't supposed to take any ships from the fleet while they were docked, partially because there was no point when the planet was accessible from the _Eclector_ and partially because there had been more than one incident involving too much drinking and a crashed M-ship. Peter had been involved in at least two of those, when he was young and stupid and high on the thrill of finally getting his own ship. _Wanna come see my ship? It's not the only way I can make you see stars,_ Peter had said to the cute Darsian girl, tossing her a roguish wink. Yondu had been absolutely fucking livid, but the two weeks of cleaning duty had been so worth it that Peter had repeated the performance three months later. The second one had earned him more punishment than just scrubbing. His jaw ached just thinking about the way Yondu's fist had connected with it, and he never wanted to spend more time in the brig again. 

 

Rules, in Peter's opinion, were meant to be broken, and so he found himself twenty minutes later peeking around the corner in the hangar to make sure no one was on duty. He needed the _Milano_ in case he got left behind which, really, was less of a possibility and more of a probability at this point. Taserface and Grunt were standing guard, but Peter grinned anyway because he really fucking hated those jackasses and he was really going to enjoy taking them down for the count.  He reached into his bag and dug around for a second before his hand emerged clutching his prize. Two little orange balls rested in his gloved palm, about the size of key limes. They were his own invention, something he'd started making when he was maybe sixteen, and he snickered to himself as he clicked the little buttons to turn them on. He knelt down, released his mask, and took his aim before giving them a little toss and watching them roll over to their targets. 

 

"Hell yes," he whispered gleefully when Taserface and Grunt were stupid enough to pick them up to examine them. Their mistake, as a second later the timer finished tick-tick-ticking and the little balls puffed out a river of acrid purple smoke. The idiots were on the floor in seconds, faces dyed purple. Peter laughed to himself as he walked over and picked up the empty little gadgets. The solution inside was a mixture of a powder found on Tauria and a few other not-strictly-legal chemicals which, when the tumblers clicked into place and they all mixed together, created a purple smoke that not only knocked a person out and dyed whatever skin it came into contact with but also would leave them with sick boils filled with purple puss. He stowed the empties in his bag and then (because, let's face it, he was a Ravager) he rifled through Taserface's pockets and pulled out a few units and a fun little dagger. He was whistling lowly as he made his way to his ship.

 

"The hell do you think you're going, Quill?" 

 

Peter froze, one foot on the ramp to the _Milano._ When he turned around he saw that Kraglin was standing behind him, arms folded and chin jutting out in defiance. He looked about as tired as Peter felt, honestly, big purple bags under his eyes and frown lines around his lips. Peter let out a shaky little sigh before plastering on his best _'who, me?'_ smile and running a sheepish hand through his messy ginger hair.

 

"Oh, you know, didn't have enough to drink down there. Gotta go get my fill before we take off." 

 

Kraglin was, unsurprisingly, not convinced. "Riiight. Well, ramp down onto the planet is thatta way." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to prove his point. "Don't need no M-Ship to get down there." 

 

Peter shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. "No, but you know it could take me a while. What if I get left behind? Gotta find a way back to you guys, right?" 

 

Kraglin rolled his eyes like he was asking someone out there in the cosmos to grant him the patience to deal with the idiot standing before him. "Quill, you know that I know that you know no one's supposed to be taking out any fleet ships when the _Eclector_ is docked. Don't try that innocent act with me. Never worked before, sure as hell's not gonna work now." 

 

Peter groaned, barely resisting the urge to stomp his foot like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. He forgot sometimes why Kraglin was Yondu's first mate. It was an easy thing to do, because Kraglin was tall and skinny and doe-eyed and, honestly, sounded dumber than a box of rocks ninety percent of the time. Fact was, though, that Yondu kept him so close to his side because he was quick, skilled like no other with a blaster and at the helm, and a damn good measure smarter than most of the Ravagers in Yondu's clan. "Dammit, Kraglin, have you _seen_ Yondu since he got back? Did you fucking see what they did to him?" 

 

Kraglin was grinding his teeth. It was a habit he'd always had, ever since Peter had joined the crew, something he did when he was stressed or upset and trying to hold it in like a good Ravager ought to. "Yeah, I seen him. Wouldn't tell me what happened, wouldn't even let me clean him up." He sighed and ran a weary hand down his scruffy cheek. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm under strict orders not to let anyone else leave the ship. We port out in two hours, Quill, everyone's back already." 

 

"Fuck that, Kraglin. You saw him, you saw what they did to him!" Peter tossed his hands up in the air, frustration coloring every movement. "Tell me something. When was the last time someone so much as scratched Yondu without it resulting in a fucking slaughter?" 

 

Kraglin looked uncomfortable and cagey. Peter knew that look, knew it meant all Kraglin needed was a little more pushing to convince him that whatever terrible plan he wanted to go along with was worth it. "How do you know he didn't kill all them assholes?" 

 

"You hear any alarms, Krags? Even on Contraxia a killing like that would have us run out of here. They're not dead, man, and fuck if I'm not going to figure out why and then choke them to death on their own dicks." Peter was standing with his feet apart, muscles bunching in agitation, fists clenched at his sides because he hadn't known until this moment just how badly he wanted to get his hands on that fucking dick Talon and figure out what the hell was going on.  

 

Kraglin groaned and rubbed his temples, but Peter knew him well enough to know that he had won. After a huffed out put-upon sigh Kraglin ruffled the mop of hair on top of his head and stood up straight. "Well, guess I'm comin' with ya then. Fuck knows you can't keep yer own damn self out of trouble." 

 

Peter grinned, a huge toothy smirk, and tossed an arm over Kraglin's shoulder. "Good man, Krags! Don't worry, we'll be back before Yondu even knows we left."

 

\-------------------------------------

 

Pirates loved gossip more than a gaggle of pre-teen Terrans, and so it hadn't even been thirty minutes before Peter and Kraglin found someone talking about what had happened earlier in the night. They were sitting in a bar because they needed a few shots, really, and because alcohol made a pirate's tongue loose; that made the bar the most likely possibility for them to gain intel without giving themselves away by straight out asking people if they knew anything. It was a win-win situation. Peter nudged Kraglin under the table and nodded in the direction he'd heard Yondu's name coming from. Kraglin was smart enough not to turn and look, but he did shift in his seat so his ear was perked towards the group of men who were talking.  

 

"Heard that Udonta jackass got his ass handed to him by Talon," some Andorian was saying, words slurred as he tried to stay balanced on his stool. 

 

Peter put a calming hand on Kraglin's forearm, shaking his head subtly. If Peter hated it when people spoke ill of their captain, Kraglin loathed it with a fiery passion. His devotion to Yondu was half the reason Peter secretly liked him so much, but now was not the time to go running in to defend Yondu's dubious honor. Kraglin clenched his jaw and huffed but let his shoulders relax into a little more natural of a position. Peter pushed another shot across the table to him and patted his arm before downing his own drink and turning his attention back to the group they were eavesdropping on.

 

"Bullshit! Udonta? Ain't never seen that crazy fucker lose a fight. Not with that fucking arrow of his." 

 

"It's true! I know a guy on Talon's ship. Said he saw them drag him in, gagged up real pretty." 

 

It was Peter's turn to be angry, and he felt his lips pull back in a snarl, hand clenched so tight around his glass he thought it would shatter. Kraglin kicked him under the table, but he was grinding his teeth again and Peter knew the other man was just as close to gutting someone as he was. They caught eyes across the table, and he knew without having to say anything that this Andorian was going to get the beating of his life later. 

 

"How the hell did they even catch that slippery fucker? One whistle and you're dead. I saw him kill six Novas in two seconds flat once!" 

 

"Talon's a real piece of work, man, ruthless. Guess he brought in twenty guys as cannon fodder, used 'em to distract Udonta while they worked out how to get the drop on him." The man paused to take a huge slurp of his drink. "Anyway, all those sorry fucks is dead now, but Udonta got his." 

 

"Is he dead?" 

 

Peter fingered the handle on his blaster, tense and waiting for them to finish so he could use it. 

 

"Nah. Talon let him go with a few pretty scars, so's he could remember him." 

 

"You're shitting me! He _let him go_  after doing that to him?" He whistled quietly. "He's a dead man walking, ain't he?" 

 

"Tha's the best part!" 

 

Peter and Kraglin had to strain to hear what was said next, subtlety forgotten as they leaned in closer. 

 

"Talon figured out a way to contain that fucking arrow! Udonta's as useless as the rest of us now. Guess Talon let him go because he ain't a threat no more, wanted to let him suffer. Word gets around and he'll be dead in a month anyway, mark my words. Udonta ain't got many friends these days, not since Stakar exiled him." 

 

Peter's heart had stopped, he was sure of it. When he slowly turned to look at Kraglin he could see his own expression mirrored back, shock and horror and outrage all pulled into one. He jerked his head towards the door and slapped some units on the table, dragging Kraglin out by his sleeve. When they reached the frigid open air Peter let go and started pacing, back and forth through filthy snow, one hand on his blaster and the other clenched in the chest of his shirt. 

 

"You think that's true, Krags?" he asked, stopping for a second to look Kraglin in the eye. Kraglin didn't answer, so he tossed up his hands and resumed his pacing. " _Fuck!_ Fuckity fuck fuck! I think it's true. That piece of shit has the Yaka arrow." 

 

"It's the only reason I can think of that the cap'n didn't already kill every man on board that ship," Kraglin said, voice low and heavy with some unnamed emotion. 

 

Peter stopped in front of him again and grabbed onto his collar, a horrifying thought occuring to him. "Kraglin! If the crew finds out about this...." 

 

"Mutiny," Kraglin said, nodding. 

 

They both knew that the only reason Yondu stayed in charge of his wild crew was through his immense power, and while he was strong and smart without his arrow, he was also easier to outnumber. That was why he hadn't let Peter help him, why he'd seemed so defeated, why he hadn't gathered his men together and stormed Talon's ship, killing every man on board in a ruthless bloody slaughter. To do that he'd have to admit to everyone why he needed revenge, why Talon and his crew weren't already dead, and then someone would realize that they could take power and that would be that. Yondu would put up a real good fight, but then he'd be out the airlock in seconds. 

 

 

"Pete, we gotta get that arrow back," Kraglin said, looking Peter dead in the eye, and Peter could have kissed him for that because he had already been planning his way onto Talon's ship on his own. There was no one else he'd rather have at his back on a mission like this than the one man who cared for their captain as much as he did. 

 

He grinned and clapped the scrawny man on the shoulder. "Krags, that's the best thing I've heard you say in years!" 

 

\-----------------------

 

It hadn't occurred to Peter to question the odd particulars of the Andorain's story, hadn't occurred to him to wonder where Talon had gotten twenty men to kill off, why they were listening to him, why Stakar hadn't put a stop to the inevitable death of so many of his men. It didn't occur to him to wonder why Stakar wasn't on planet, or at least Crux, in order to keep their men in some semblance of order. It did now, though, as he and Kraglin found themselves standing outside what they had been promised was Talon's ship and realized that it wasn't an M-ship, but a goddamn mothership. For a panicked second Peter thought that it was Stakar's ship, that Talon had taken power somehow and Stakar was gone, gone before Peter had a chance to see him again. But no, this wasn't the _Starhawk._ It was too small, too dark, and missing the giant painting of a star on the front.  

 

He and Kraglin exchanged a weary look before Kraglin nodded at him and started making his way up the ramp, laughing and stumbling and pretending to be drunk so well that Peter himself was almost convinced. Peter waited until he heard the guards, a tall orange dude and a little reptile-looking guy, shout for Kraglin to stop before he plastered on a worried look and stumbled his way quickly up as well. 

 

"Hey! Heeeeeey, Obi!" Peter stumbled to a halt next to Kraglin and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Buddy, this ain't our ship!" 

 

"Yess't is! No, see, this's my ship!" Kraglin exclaimed, clinging to Peter's shoulder for balance and throwing out his other arm to gesture to the whole of the spacecraft.  

 

The guards looked tired and irritated, and Peter was watching them, watching for them to realize Kraglin was too 'drunk' to be a threat and let their guard down. It didn't take long. Even if they thought Kraglin was trying to break into the ship, Kraglin was real good at playing stupid, and if you added his stature to that mix you got something that looked deceptively unthreatening. Kraglin tripped and fell onto the ramp, giggling like a hyena, and _there,_ the orange guy rolled his eyes and let his weapon droop and the other guy turned to look at him. There was their opening. Peter launched himself at one of them, Kraglin took the other, and within seconds they were dragging the unconscious bodies into the ship and stowing them in a supply closet. They rifled through the men's pockets for any weapons or units before silently creeping down the hallway.

 

"I can't believe this fucker got his own clan," Peter griped as they made their way through the mostly empty ship. Most of the men still seemed to be on Contraxia, and those they did run across were either too drunk to notice them or else passed out. "What was Stakar _thinking?"_

Kraglin turned to punch him in the arm and glare at him, clearly not amused. "Quill, I swear if your yammering gets us caught I'm gonna kill you." 

 

"Promises, promises," Peter whispered, but conceded the point and kept his thoughts to himself. 

 

The ship was maybe half the size of Yondu's, a fact which gave Peter some measure of satisfaction. They found the hangar first, just in case they needed a different escape route, and Peter counted about thirty ships. He made a mental note of where the room was located and gestured for Kraglin to follow him. What they really needed was to find where Talon was keeping the arrow. Peter knew, though he'd never in a million years tell Yondu that he did, what was required to contain the weapon. It had taken so much digging and research he had spent three days with a splitting migraine, but he knew and so he had a vague idea of what they were looking for. What he didn't know was what they were going to do when they found it. Talon wasn't stupid enough to leave it unguarded, and Peter was still raring to beat the living shit out of something, but he only hoped that it didn't turn out to be guarded by more than they could handle. 

 

Kraglin had stopped with his head peeking around a corner, weapon raised and shoulders hunched in to make himself appear smaller. Peter crept up behind him so he could lean over his bony shoulder and get close enough to whisper. "Where do you think he's keeping it?"

 

"Dunno. If I was him I wouldn't leave it out of my sight, but who knows what he's thinking?" 

 

The soft _click_ and _whirr_ of a blaster coming online had Kraglin and Peter spinning around in a hot second, weapons raised. Peter repressed a groan when he saw who it was. Talon, of course, blaster in one hand while the other one dangled a long thin metal box between his fingers. Peter was more than pleased to see Talon's black eye and split lip. He had three long deep gashes, sloppily stitched together, running down from his temple to his chin, and the way he was favoring his left leg gave Peter a savage sense of satisfaction. So Yondu had gotten a good few shots in before he'd been captured. Good. Peter was about to do a whole lot fucking worse. Despite his haggard appearance, Talon was grinning, surrounded by three men Peter didn't know and two he'd known from Stakar's clan. 

 

"Well, well, what do we have here boys? Little Star Princess and, what, his pet?" Talon sneered at Kraglin, clearly dismissing him as insignificant and labeling him 'not a threat.' It was a mistake Peter had seen many people make over the years, and it was often their last. He felt Kraglin's foot shift so that the toes of his boot were nudging up against the heel of Peter's own. Silent communication had often been a necessity for them, and Peter knew that Kraglin was warning him of his impending movement. Peter pushed his foot back ever so slightly to confirm that he was ready whenever Kraglin gave the signal. 

 

"Star Princess. Real cute. It's been, what, seven years and you haven't been able to come up with any new material?" Peter rolled his eyes. "I'd love to say I'm surprised, but you never were the sharpest tool in the shed. Hey, nice makeover by the way. I hear that 'I just got my ass handed to me by someone who was outnumbered twenty-to-one' is really in right now. Very fashionable." 

 

"Your words have no effect on me, Quill," Talon snapped, the snarl gracing his split lips a clear indication that he was lying. Peter was gratified to note that even after so many years he still barely had to make an effort to get under the other man's skin. 

 

Peter laughed, dark and mocking. "You never were very good at lying, Talon." 

 

Talon clenched his teeth and took a deep breath before pasting on a grin and leaning up against one of the walls, affecting calm. "You know, Peter, I've had this ship for about, what, two years now?" 

 

"Good for you, man. It's kinda small, though." He looked around, feigning interest as he pushed his arm against his side to press the button that would release a dagger from his sleeve. The tension in the room was palpable, thick, and Peter felt his adrenaline spike in anticipation for the coming fight. He couldn't fucking wait to get his blade in that smirking purple jackass. "I'm surprised that massive head of yours even fits in here." 

 

"Well, it wasn't supposed to be _my_ ship, you know," Talon said, examining the slim box in his hands. 

 

"Well, I didn't think Stakar was dumb enough to actually _give_ you a ship. Who'd you steal it from?" He felt Kraglin slipping a small blaster into his waistband and felt grimly satisfied that the other man was using Talon's blatant dismissal of him to his advantage. 

 

Talon looked up, feigning surprise. "Oh, you didn't know? Poor little Peter," he tisked. "This ship was meant to be _yours_." 

 

Peter froze, unable to keep the surprise from his face because, _what?_  "Excuse me?" 

 

Talon laughed mockingly, leaning forward to get right in Peter's face. "Oh, yes, Ogord acquired this ship for you, his little pet human." He sighed. "It was just too bad when you betrayed us all and he was forced to exile you. He was so... disappointed." 

 

Peter ground his teeth together, trying as hard as he could not to let the words bother him. It was so incredibly difficult, though, because _fuck._ Stakar had been planning to give him his own ship, his own command, his own clan. The realization was like a punch to the gut, a jarring reminder of everything he could have had, all he'd now never have. Growing up, all he'd ever wanted to do was make Stakar proud, always striving to do better, _be_ better. To think that his surrogate father's last impression of him would always be crippling disappointment still left a gaping hole in his chest. Knowing that he'd had high enough expectations of Peter to give him his own ship one day made it even worse because how big of a let-down did he end up being, really, if he'd been held to such a high standard? 

 

"Oh, I'm sorry, does that upset you? Yes, he held onto the ship for a while, was going to add it to his fleet, but it reminded him of his life's most colossal disappointment and he decided one day that he just couldn't bare to look at it anymore. Reminded him too much of his biggest failure, you know. That failure being _you_ , of course." 

 

He knew Talon was just trying to get under his skin, knew he was trying to egg Peter on. He knew all of this, and yet he still possessed a famously hot temper and the verbal knife Talon had inserted in years-old wounds wouldn't stop twisting, _twisting_ until Peter couldn't take it anymore. With a kick to Kraglin's toe his only warning, he launched himself at that stupid smirking face. It was no longer smirking when the knife Peter had clutched in his hand embedded itself deep in the meat of his shoulder, causing his fingers to lose their grip on the Yaka metal box containing Yondu's arrow. It clattered to the floor with a deafening _clang_ and Peter landed a swift kick to Talon's sternum, using the momentum to pull his knife from the other man's shoulder. He could feel the spray of blood dripping down his neck as he quickly bent down to snatch up the box. 

 

Kraglin had taken out two of the men already and was working on a third. Peter took out the little blaster and shot the giant his friend was fighting in the temple."Come on, man, I've got it!" 

 

"Duck!" Kraglin hissed. Peter did, a reflex borne of instinct and a deep trust, and felt the air whoosh over his head as Kraglin kicked the man behind Peter in the jaw. At the same time he noticed the other guy raising his blaster at Kraglin's back, and he shot him down from between Kraglin's legs, one, two in the chest until the man fell into the wall behind him. 

 

"Let's go, Quill," Kraglin panted, tugging at Peter's sleeve, but Peter couldn't just leave Talon there, couldn't just let him go after all that he'd done. He'd never sleep again knowing the sick fucker who'd brought Yondu so low was here, alive, living it up on his own damn mothership as if he deserved to breathe. 

 

He shrugged Kraglin off and stalked towards the other man, leaning back and landing a hard kick to his face upon his approach. The _crack_ of his nose and the fresh gush of blood was one of the most beautiful sounds Peter had ever heard. He couldn't hear anything except for the blood rushing in his ears after that, couldn't concentrate beyond the need to hurt and maim, the need to make this man pay.

 

He raised his blaster to point right between Talon's eyes, grinning. "Any last words, asshole?" 

 

Talon wheezed out a wet little laugh and spit out a glob of blood. "Yeah. Duck."

 

Peter's blaster was shot from his hand and he was jerked back to reality in time to hear the storm of boots running down the hall towards them and _shit_ they really needed to go. He forcefully shoved down his anger for Talon and grabbed Kraglin's arm. They had barely skidded around the corner before the blasters started firing their way in earnest. Thank the stars they had memorized the route to the hangar, because they were going to need a real quick getaway now.

 

Peter skidded to a halt in front of the controls panel and waved Kraglin on. "Go on, get one of those M-Ships going. I'm right behind you, just gotta open the hangar doors." He quickly slammed the butt of his blaster into the door lock button. It wouldn't keep the men out for long, but maybe it would buy them a little time. They just needed to get to the nearest jump and they'd be lost to Talon long enough to get Yondu his arrow back. Then they could all hunt the fucker down and give him what he deserved. 

 

Kraglin had found a ship, and Peter quickly released the bay doors as he heard the thrusters start up. Kaglin's voice was crackling over the communicator on his ear. "Come on, Quill, you havin a goddamn tea party down there? Hurry the hell up, kid!" 

 

"I'm working on it, man, just give me a sec!" 

 

He had heard of certain moments happening as if in slow motion, but he'd never understood what that meant until that day. The doors to the hangar exploded inward with a force that sent him sailing through the air, and men began spilling out. As he rolled to his feet he could see it all unfolding before him, saw the men searching for him through the smoke, saw the exact moment one of the men realized there was an active ship in the room and that the bay doors were open. He pulled four little tiny square cubes from his pocket and took a deep breath. This was his damn fool fault. They'd had enough time to leave once they got the arrow, but he couldn't see past his own rage and this was the result. 

 

_Well, princess,_ he thought, jostling the little cubes between his fingers. _Time to nut up and face the consequences._  

 

"Kraglin, you need to listen to me and you need to do it now. We ain't both getting out of here, buddy. There's no time for me to get to you, they're about to see you. I'm gonna do something real stupid and you gotta get outta here before it happens." 

 

"No! Quill, what the hell? I ain't leavin - " 

 

"Get the fuck out of here Krags! Go take care of Yondu. I've still got the arrow, which means Talon will when this is over. He needs you." 

 

"Peter..." There was real emotion in Kraglin's voice, a choked off sob, and Peter had always known that Kraglin cared for him but it was nice to have an actual reminder when he was literally running out to face his death. 

 

"GO!" 

 

Kraglin did, the M-Ship whirring to life and making its agonizingly slow way to the bay doors. Peter saw the men catch sight of it, knew that they were too distracted trying to shoot at it to notice him. He lobbed the cubes across the room, one, two, three, four, all in a line underneath the stocked up M-Ships. The explosion was incredible, so loud he knew his ears would be bleeding, so strong it sent him careening into the control console. When he managed to sit up, clutching at the likely broken ribs on his left side, a grin split his face. Kraglin had made it. Peter laughed as Kraglin's ship took off into the sky outside the doors, teeth bloody, eyes glazed, firelight from the line of six burning M-Ships dancing in the shadows on his face. 

 

He was dizzy, probably in shock, but when Talon's livid face loomed over his own he had enough time to hawk a wad of bloody spit into the other man's eye. "Take that, bitch," he wheezed, and then his world went black. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there was no Yondu in this one! I promise he'll be back soon. As always, I live to hear what you guys think so drop me a review if you have any thoughts. Thanks so much!


	7. Fooled Around and Fell in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gha! You guys are the best ever I can't even handle all of these awesome reviews!!!

The trouble with being on a ship in the middle of fuck nowhere, space, was that without some kind of watch it was almost impossible to keep track of the time. There were no meals brought to his cell in the brig, no water, no guard changes that he could keep track of through the thick metal door. Nothing but silence, deep and endless and agonizing. His stomach had long ago stopped growling, empty and cramping and begging for nourishment.

He picked at the still slowly weeping cut on his forehead and idly wondered how long it would take a Terran to starve to death. Three days? Four? A week, maybe? He didn’t know, but he did know that it was likely he’d die of dehydration before he made it long enough to starve.

When he’d first woken up he’d been bound to a post in the middle of what looked like the ship’s mess hall, chains chafing, arms pulled too tight, head throbbing. There were men all around him, taunting and jeering and screaming. Talon had been standing in front of him, arms crossed, pretending a level of calm Peter could see wasn’t real in his eyes. He was _angry_ , so incredibly angry, and the thought made Peter grin through his pain.

“What are you smiling about, Quill?” Talon asked, spreading his arms to gesture at Peter’s surroundings. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re in a very bad situation right now.”

“Oh, you know, I was just thinking about that time when I dropped Droshian laxatives in your food. You remember, right?” Peter laughed, mocking. “Shit right there in your pants, I swear I could still smell it on you for days. What did the guys call you after that? Shitbreak, was it?”

Peter chortled as, from somewhere in the crowd he heard, “Oh, hey! I remember that!”

Talon couldn’t see who had spoken, but he could see that some of his men were holding back smiles. He snarled, and the stinging slap he landed to Peter’s cheek was so worth it. Peter spat out a glob of blood and rested his head on the pole behind him, grin still in place. “Gonna have to do better than that, man, I’ve been hit harder by women I slept with.”

The hit the second time had enough force in it that Peter’s head snapped back, and he lost consciousness once again.

Three more times he’d been dragged into that room, and hell if Peter knew why. He figured Talon just got off on the power, got off on showing his men what could happen if you crossed him. It was a good tactic, really, brutal and terrible and something Stakar never would have considered, but effective. Or else it would be if Peter wasn’t so good at laughing through the pain.

As he sat in the dark, dank cell contemplating his life choices he considered the fact that it wouldn’t be long before he goaded Talon into killing him. The possibility wasn’t as terrible as he thought it would be, honestly. Yondu would have taken his ship and hightailed it out of the solar system by now, would be long gone, so Peter had no hope of rescue. He was weak and broken and so incredibly tired, so escaping was definitely out.

No, death was infinitely better than whatever Talon had planned for him. Because he had to have something planned for him, right? Some bigger scheme than this, something other than starving and beating Peter until he let go of his last grip on life?

The door to his cell creaked open and he pulled himself up as much as he was able with his broken rib. Talon was standing in the doorway, clearly pleased at Peter’s weak state. He tossed a roll and a small hard block of cheese on the ground at Peter’s feet, followed by a squeeze pack full of water. Peter felt his stomach physically cramp up at the sight of the food, and it was a shitty excuse for a meal but to him it looked like a six-course dinner at a fine restaurant.

Still, he wasn’t dumb enough to take it. “Poison, Talon? Really? Thought you were more creative than that.”

Talon sneered at him. “I’m not going to _poison_ you, Quill. Go ahead. Take it.”

Peter knew he could still be lying, but in the end if he was going to die he’d rather it be with a little bit of food in his stomach. While he meant to pace himself, he ended up shoveling it all into his mouth almost without taking a breath, washing it down with a long pull of the lukewarm water. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it felt so good to have something in his stomach that he’d gladly eat just that over and over again for the rest of his life at this point.

Talon knelt down in front of him, making it a point to still keep his head higher than Peter’s. “Don’t you want to know why I haven’t killed you yet?”

“Not really. Is it because I’m too pretty? You know, I’ve heard that be – “

His head jerked to the side with the force of the slap and he let out a shaky breath.

“Sorry, oh slap-happy one, why are you keeping me alive? Besides, you know, to use as your own personal punching bag.”

Talon clenched his fists but didn’t hit Peter again. “I’m going to _ransom_ you, obviously.”

Peter couldn’t help it. He laughed, deep and loud. It made his rib scream in pain, made his head throb, made Talon growl but, hell, really? Ransom him? “Oh, yeah? Who the fuck do you think is going to pay for me, you idiot? If you think Yondu’s gonna, you got another thing coming buddy. He doesn’t do ransoms for his crew.”

Talon tisked. “No, no, no, Quill. Udonta is no longer worth my time, no longer a threat to me.” He pulled the long thin metal box out of his jacket and held it teasingly in front of Peter’s eyes. “He’s useless without this, honestly. That disgusting group of idiots he calls a clan has probably already gutted him. That happens, sometimes, when you’re forced to deal with feral animals.”

Peter didn’t rise to the bait, but his heart did clench. He had been trying not to think about what could have happened to Yondu by now, tried not to think about how the crew was in a constant state of agitation, ready to boil over and eat their superiors alive at the smallest provocation.

“Well, I dunno who you’ve been talking to, but there ain’t no one who would pay that ransom,” he said, dropping his head back onto the wall behind him and closing his eyes. He was so _tired_ all the time.

“Oh, I can think of one person.”

Peter cracked an eye at him. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who do you think you’re going to get something out of for me?”

Talon busied himself with calmly examining the nails on his left hand. “Stakar Ogord of course.”

Peter was too confused to even mock him, really. He just stared blankly for a second, tying to see the angle Talon was working here, trying to figure out what he could possibly be playing at because, “Dude, _you’re_ the one who told me Stakar thought I betrayed him. _You’re_ the one who told me I was exiled. Why in the name of fuck would you think he’d pay anything to save me?”

Talon grinned, feral and mean and unhinged. “Oh, I did say that, didn’t I? My mistake.”

“Excuse me?” Peter seethed.

“Oh, Stakar never thought you had betrayed him, Quill. I made that up.”

Peter blinked, unable to wrap his head around this new reality because _what_? He’d spent _so many years_ thinking that Stakar had exiled him, _so many years_ hurting and wondering what he did wrong, how Stakar could have believed that, how he could cast out the boy he’d raised so easily without even hearing his end of the story. To hear that it was all possibly a lie had sent Peter reeling.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“You heard me, Quill. I. Made. It. Up.” He laughed at the look on Peter’s face. “Yes, yes, betrayal, blah blah blah. I sent someone to steal your ship, sent someone to make sure your mission ended with your death. When that didn’t happen, I improvised.”

Peter could tell that Talon was getting a huge kick out of this, could tell that he was enjoying spreading his tale, could tell that he was positively giddy with glee at the shock on Peter’s face.

“You should have seen his _face_ when I told him you’d died on the mission he’d sent you on. It was frankly heartbreaking. Did you know, he actually viewed you as his _son,_ can you imagine? The old idiot. It was _so much fun_ watching him break, you have no idea.”

Peter had had enough. Weak as he was, anger was one hell of a driving force. He let out a little snarl of rage and launched himself at the other man, reveling the feeling of flesh tearing under his nails. It was short-lived, however, as Talon was not only larger than Peter but also not starved and covered in numerous hemorrhaging wounds. Peter found himself on his back in seconds, agony shooting through his body when Talon’s palm landed on his broken rib.

“Nice try, boy, but you’re no match for me.”

“Yeah, right, no match for you when I’m beaten and starved and dehydrated. You’re so _strong,_ Talon, how ever do you do it?”

“For once in your disgusting little life, just shut your fucking mouth!” Talon screeched, breathing erratic. “Stakar will still give just as much for you with those pretty little lips sewn shut.”

The truly fucked up part was that Peter could tell he actually meant it. He could tell that this sick asshole would pin him down and sew his lips shut with thread and needle, medieval torture style, and _enjoy_ it, too. He knew when his limits had been reached, and so he choked back the insults waiting to fly out of his mouth and settled for glaring instead.

 

Talon smiled and patted his cheek. “There’s a good boy.”

He stood and brushed himself off, smoothing out his plumb purple hair and pulling his shoulders back.

Peter groaned and pulled himself to his elbows with none too little effort. “What are you hoping to get out of him anyway? If you think you’re gonna get much you’re definitely in for a disappointment.”

“If you think that Stakar wouldn’t give literally everything he has for those he considers family, then you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

The door slammed on the way out and Peter fell gingerly back to the floor, where he stayed until sleep finally took him.

\------------

“Quill! Petey, wake the hell up goddamnit!”

Peter gasped and tore his eyes open, sure he was hearing things, sure he had finally developed a concussion from all the hits to his head and that he was hallucinating. But no, there he was, vibrant blue skin a more than welcome change from the gunmetal gray he’d been seeing for Thanos knew how long.

Yondu let out a long shaky sigh of relief and Peter choked out a decidedly unmanly sob and reached up to wrap his hand behind Yondu’s thick neck. He pulled their mouths together, hard, teeth knocking, tongues clashing, and he probably tasted like blood and filth and all sorts of terrible things but Yondu didn’t seem to care. He threw himself into the kiss with as much fervor as Peter himself, moaning low in his throat and using one of his hands to tilt Peter’s face _just so_.

They were panting when they pulled apart, foreheads touching in a display so tender Peter would later think he imagined it because this was _Yondu_ and Yondu was never tender. His captain exhaled, calming his erratic breath, before standing up and slowly pulling Peter to his feet. There was that tenderness again, as he saw Peter wince and gentled his touch, rubbed his shoulders, helped him balance. Peter took advantage of the situation, deciding that he’d been through enough that he was allowed one moment of weakness, and rested his head on Yondu’s leather-clad shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Yondu?” he asked because there was just no way he could bring himself to believe Yondu had come to rescue him unless he heard it from the man himself.

It was as Yondu used his forefinger to pull Peter’s chin up so they could look in the eye and said, “I’m here to save you, you fucking idiot,” that Peter realized how terribly and deeply he was in love with his captain. The feeling didn’t so much crash over him as peek out, slowly, like a scared animal that had been hiding and realized it was finally safe to show itself. He gathered with startling clarity that he’d probably been in love with this man for years and years, probably been in love with him since they met on Orga. The feeling fit, for him, though it was something he would have adamantly denied twenty seconds ago. It fit like a piece of him, and maybe it was the piss-poor state his body was in, delirium from pain and blood loss and starvation, but he felt like a piece of him had finally slotted into place.

“Come on, we gotta get outta here before that jackass comes a knockin’,” Yondu said, pulling Peter along by his arm, and the moment was over but Peter clutched his newfound knowledge to his chest like a lifeline.

 

A thought made its way past the pain, past the unbelievable elation and terror about his realization and he stopped. “Yondu! Yondu, wait, your arrow’s here. He’s got it in a Yaka metal box, always in his jacket pocket.”

“Don’t you think I know it’s here, idiot? We ain’t got time for it right now. Kraglin’s got the ship waiting, but we gotta get ourselves out an airlock on the other side of this tub so he can grab us.”

“But – “

“You going after that goddamn arrow is what got you into this mess, boy, and it’s not worth our lives right now!”

Peter flinched, the reminder that this was all his fault like a stinging slap to his face. Yondu sighed and pulled Peter towards him with a hand to the back of his neck, pressing their foreheads together once more. “What you idiots did was stupid and reckless and I do appreciate it but, Peter, it ain’t worth dying over. We’ll come back for it, alright? Believe me, no one crosses me like this and lives to tell about it.”

Peter nodded and Yondu pulled away to dig something out of his pocket. He slapped the item into Peter’s hand. “Better put that on.”

It was Peter’s mask, the one Stakar had given to him all those years ago, and he was about to ask how Yondu had gotten it when he noticed something that hadn’t quite caught his attention before; Yondu was covered in blood. His cheek, his neck, the once-white undershirt peeking out from beneath his vest, his fists. He had a panicked moment where he thought the blood was all Yondu’s but then realized that, no, it definitely wasn’t, which meant – oh.

“Jesus, how many people did you kill before you got to me?”

Yondu was busy pulling Peter along, checking around every corner before he entered a hallway. It took a moment for Peter’s question to pierce through to him, but when it did he took one absent look at the blood on his free hand and shrugged. “Hell if I know. I saw ‘em, I took ‘em down. Not like they didn’t deserve it.”

‘They’ turned out to be at least twenty men. Peter knew this because as they got closer to Yondu’s entry point bodies started showing up, littered along the floor, against the walls, half inside of doorways. Peter didn’t know whether to be impressed or horrified at the sprays of blood decorating the walls, at the men with broken necks and blaster holes through their eyes. He’d clearly been wrong in a very real way when he thought Yondu was easier to outnumber without his arrow because _damn_ he had done some serious damage with nothing but his fists and a blaster.

 

 

In the end, it was all Peter’s fault again. He had been too distracted, in too much pain, too out of it, and wasn’t paying attention. He never put his mask on like Yondu had told him to, never even thought about it after it had been placed in his hand. When they made it to the airlock he realized his mistake and was just reaching up to put the piece behind his ear when he was barreled over by something waist high and the mask went flying out of his hand.

He wheezed, broken rib screaming at him from the impact, and vaguely wondered just how much more his body could take before it gave out on him. Yondu pulled the little guy (the reptilian one he and Kraglin had knocked out, go figure) off of him and snapped his neck with a vicious efficiency while Peter dragged himself to his feet. He could hear the storming footfalls coming from three different directions and although he knew if he were at his peak he and Yondu could probably take them all he was most certainly not in any shape to do it now. With the way his vision was swimming he honestly doubted he could shoot a blaster with any measure of efficiency.

“Yondu, my mask, he knocked it out of my hand I don’t know where it went. I’m so sorry, I – “

Yondu grasped him by his neck again and pulled him in for a bruising kiss, nipping at Peter’s lip so hard it bled and then lapping it up like it was candy. It was a weird time for a kiss, but hell Peter figured they were about to die anyway so might as well make the best of it. He went with it as Yondu quickly shuffled them back until Peter was pressed against the outer airlock doors, went with it as Yondu’s hands roved once down his body, as Yondu panted into his mouth, as Yondu’s hand travelled up again. He leaned into the touch when that hand found its way back up to his neck.

Yondu pulled them apart and it had only been seconds but to Peter, who was still grappling with the revelation of the depth of his affection, it felt like so much longer. He didn’t understand the sadness in Yondu’s eyes, didn’t get it when Yondu leaned close to whisper, “Kraglin’ll pick you up the second you’re out the airlock, kid.”

He did get it when, a millisecond later, Yondu kissed him one last time and pressed something behind his ear. He understood what was happening when the mask covered his face and Yondu thumped him once on the chest. “Do not come back for me, Quill. That’s a goddamn order, y’hear?”

Before he could blink Yondu had slammed his fist on the release button for the inner airlock door and shoved him through. He had a second to lunge forward after the door had re-sealed itself, and then Yondu hit the next button and he was ripped forcefully out into the vacuum of space. The last he saw of his captain was the man turning to meet the flood of men and rolling his shoulders in preparation for one hell of a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks* I am sooooooo sorry!!  
> Poor Yondu. Poor Peter. These poor, poor space babies! I promise that I don't hate them <3


	8. Ain't No Mountain High Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a special apology for all the cliffhangers I've left you guys with, this one is extra long! Hopefully it's as satisfying to read as it was to write! We're definitely not done yet, though, so stick around. You guys are amazing and your reviews spur me on for sure. Thank you so much for being incredible!  
> ALSO, there's some yummy but kinda crappy Yondu art I did at the end of this! I relied heavily on references, but I like it!

He knew it was fruitless, knew there was no way he was getting back to Yondu, but still he found himself scrabbling around, trying to swim through space, trying desperately to get back to the ship that was drifting further and further away. He felt the growing distance like a physical ache, and tears of anger and pain and frustration pricked at his eyes under his mask and oh, god, he’d just found love and it was being forcefully torn from him.

“No, no, no, NO! YONDU! Fucking goddamnit you asshole don’t do this to me! _Please!”_

True to his word, it only took Kraglin two minutes, maybe, to track Peter down and grab him with the tractor beam but to Peter it felt like an eternity and by the time he’d landed in the ship he was sobbing, big, fat, ugly tears. He retracted his (Yondu’s) mask and scrubbed angrily at his cheeks, and then he was dashing through the ship, falling into walls on his way as his body protested too much activity while it was in such piss-poor state.

When he reached the cockpit and saw that Kraglin wasn’t turning the ship around, that he was instead making a very quick retreat towards the nearest jump, he cried out and launched himself at the co-pilot seat. When he tried to click the controls over to himself, though, nothing happened. He tried again, frustrated; Kraglin must have locked the controls.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Kraglin? You stupid? Didn’t you see the captain wasn’t with me? _We have to go back for him!”_

Kraglin didn’t say a word, just stared straight ahead, jaw clenched tight. Peter tried to wrench the controls out of his hands, but Kraglin jabbed him sharply in the sternum with his elbow and Peter fell back onto his ass. He launched to his feet again and punched his friend on the side of his face. He wasn’t very strong, currently, but he put all of his not inconsiderable weight behind the punch and Kraglin’s much smaller form was forced out of the seat and onto the floor. Panting and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his whole body, he grabbed the controls and started to turn the ship around.

He was stopped by that all-too-familiar _click_ and _whirr_ of a blaster. He felt the cool metal press against his temple and let out a shaky breath. Kraglin was standing next to him, blaster raised, shoulders set in steely determination. “Let. Go. Now.”

 Peter was so ready to rage, to scream, to grab the nearest weapon and threaten Kraglin’s very life if he didn’t agree to turn around, because that was their _captain_ back there, their _friend._ Then he turned and caught a glimpse of Kraglin’s bloodshot eyes, of the welling unshed tears, of the pain there.

His voice cracked when he spoke next. “Krags, we can’t just _leave him_.”

Kraglin shoved him aside but still kept the blaster trained on him as he took over the controls again and righted their course. Peter didn’t miss how the other man avoided looking at him, like seeing the pain he was feeling mirrored on Peter’s face would be the end of him.  “We can and we will. Them’s the captain’s orders.”

“He ordered you to _abandon_ him?” Peter snapped, disbelief coloring his words.

Kraglin did look at him then, right in the eyes, anger and hurt churning beneath his surface. “He ordered me to get you to safety, Quill, ordered me to take you and never dare look back because if he didn’t make it out with you he wasn’t making it out at all. _You’re_ the priority here, that’s what he said, said his life wasn’t worth ours and if I went back to get him he would never forgive me.”

A tear leaked down his scruffy cheek and he swiped it away angrily. “This was his goddamn dying wish, and there ain’t no fucking way I ain’t gonna honor it. So just…” He paused, scrubbing at his face and turning back to the controls. “Just buckle up, kid, we’re almost to the jump.”

Kraglin never let the blaster down, and even if he had the fight had all drained out of Peter. He was in terrible shape, and his body had finally decided it had had enough. So he did as requested, sat down in the copilot seat and buckled up, and they sat there together as the ship flew noiselessly through space, silent and hurting and each just a little bit broken.

\------------

Kraglin did not take Peter back to the _Eclector_. Instead, he pulled into port on Xandar a few hours later, saying something about what a shitty state Peter was in, how the ship’s medic was going to be next to useless. Peter went with him willingly, much to Kraglin’s surprise, when he said he was going to check him into a hospital there.

As much as Peter still wanted to go after Yondu, as much as his heart was telling him to get the fuck back to him right now, he knew he was currently less than useless. He needed to heal, and he needed to do it fast because despite what Kraglin said Yondu wanted there was no way in hell he was going to let this happen without a fight. He’d learned a lot about Talon during his stay on his ship, and one of the things he’d come to realize about the man was that he was definitely not the type to just kill his enemy off and be done with it. Peter had no doubt that Yondu would still be alive, that Talon was going to think up some long run plan that would hurt a lot worse than a simple death.

The girl at the front desk looked like she was going to faint when she caught sight of the two men standing in front of her. They hadn’t tried to hide the fact that they were Ravagers, and the state Peter was in was frankly grotesque. They were seen by a doctor much faster than either of them had expected, and if there were more than the average number of beefy orderlies in the room with them, well, Peter really couldn’t blame them.

Later, after so many tests and scans Peter had eventually lost track, he was sitting on the bed in a thin set of hospital issue pajamas (Peter thanked the stars that they didn’t use those thin paper gowns like they did on Earth), hooked up to several monitors with an IV drip, drip, dripping into his veins. The doctor walked in, frowning over his spectacles at the holo pad in his hands.

“Kid, I’m not gonna ask what happened to you. It’s clear where you come from, but I am going to say that you’re damned lucky to be alive right now.” He looked up at Peter, eyebrows raised. “How long were you captive for?”

Peter didn’t know, nor did he know how the guy had known he’d been a prisoner so he shrugged. It was Kraglin who answered, from his position propped against the wall in the corner. “He was gone nine days.”

The doctor frowned. “Nine days, hmm? Well, you’re lucky you’re only half Terran because if you were full blooded Terran you’d of been dead after three with no water like that. Four, tops, but Terrans can’t survive more than that without hydration from somewhere.”

“Um, excuse me? Half Terran?”

The doctor raised his eyebrows, and Peter saw Kraglin shift uncomfortably from the corner of his vision. He turned to look at his friend, narrowing his eyes in suspicion when he wouldn’t meet his gaze. He had a sneaking suspicion that Kraglin had already known about Peter’s little biological anomaly.

“Well, yes, didn’t you know?”

“Would I have asked if I had known?” Peter snipped, turning back to look at the doctor.

To his credit, the doctor didn’t even flinch, just gave Peter a very unimpressed look and flicked something on his chart. The orderlies, on the other hand, tensed.

“We don’t know what the other half of you is, but it’s something ancient. We’ve never seen anything like it before. As I said, you’re lucky for your heritage. As it stands, your body is beyond severely dehydrated, you’re starved, you have one broken rib, several bruised. Your right shoulder blade has two hairline fractures, and those are just the most severe problems. If you were full Terran I have no doubt that you would be dead right now. We’re going to be keeping you here for a few days to get your body functioning again, to keep an eye on your progress.”

Peter bristled. “No, no. Sorry, man, not gonna work for me. I got places to be, things to do. I gotta be out of here tonight.”

Kraglin stomped over to stand next to his bed, arms crossed. “You ain’t goin nowhere, Quill, not till this here doctor says you’re ready.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna make me stay?”

“I’m your captain now, remember? You gotta do as I say!”

The words were like a punch to his gut, like a physical blow. He sneered up at Kraglin, defensive and angry. “You ain’t my _captain_ , Krags. I’ve got a captain already, and he’s off Thanos knows where, _needing_ us, and I am not going to just sit here and do fucking nothing about it!”

Kraglin looked about ready to deck him right in the face, and if it weren’t for the doctor pointedly clearing his throat he probably would have, wounds or no. They seethed at each other, glaring, hard and unyielding and masking their mutual pain with mutual anger because that was the Ravager way.

“Right, well, I hate to tell you this but here on Xandar I have the authority to keep you here as long as I deem fit if I think your life is in danger. I do believe that you could die, so you can either stay willingly or I can keep you sedated and handcuffed.” He shrugged. “Your choice.”

\----

 

Three days later Peter finally realized that the doctor was definitely not messing around. He woke groggily to the doctor standing over him, infuriating eyebrow raised again. Peter tugged at the arm still handcuffed to the bed and groaned.

“So, are we going to have a good day or am I going to put you under again?” the doctor, Jael, asked. “Technology is incredible. I can keep you sedated for weeks without there being any negative side-effects.”

Peter huffed and dropped his head onto the pillow. “You people say Ravagers are brutal.”

Jael chuckled. “I take my patients seriously, kiddo. You may be strong, but everyone has their limits.”

“Hey, where’s Kraglin?”

Jael stood to check the readings on all of the monitors while one of the big orderlies came in to drop off a tray of simple foods and some water. “That guy cares about you a lot, you know? Hasn’t left your side more than a few times. We offered him a cot in my office this morning when we found him sleeping in the chair again. Almost had to drag him out, honestly. That one’s a keeper I’d say. I’m sure it’s hard to find a… partner who cares that much in your profession.”

Peter barked out a laugh. He could not wait to hold this over Kraglin’s head. He snorted again thinking about the look on the other man’s face when he told him Jael thought they were _partners._ “Dude, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Kraglin! Ha!”

“Oh, he’s not your lover? My mistake I guess. I saw the bites on your lip and just kind of assumed…”

Peter touched the lip in question, mirth gone, and his head was filled with blue skin, crazy teeth, chapped lips, a rough tongue. He let out a shaky breath and the doctor, seeming to sense his shift in mood, patted him on his uninjured shoulder and left him to it.

\--------

His stay in the hospital lasted one week and one day. One week and one day where he was handcuffed to the rails, bored out of his mind, edgy and jumpy. If it weren’t for the pain control meds they were pumping him with he suspected that he would have gone insane from waiting. He needed out. He needed a ship. He needed to find that purple piece of shit and toss him out an airlock, needed to watch the life slowly fade from his eyes. Most of all he needed to find Yondu, to assure himself that he was safe.

During his time there he’d had plenty of opportunity to consider his options. He thought about calling Stakar, thought about finding him and barging in and proving he wasn’t dead. Then he’d beg Stakar to help him, beg him to go with him to get Yondu, to get revenge on his treacherous former clan member. The problem with that plan was that Stakar was the head of the entire Ravager fleet and tracking him down could take _months_. Space was vast. There were so many places he could be, so many people who could have seen him, so many opportunities to miss him on his search. In the end he struck that idea from the list, deciding that while he longed to reunite with the man again he wasn’t willing to possibly waste too much time and lose his chance to rescue Yondu. 

When he _was_ finally released, they had to get a hotel room close to the hospital because although he was healing very rapidly, no one could heal from all of that in just a week and he still had the tight healing wraps attached. They were sleek and non-invasive, but they were hooked up with tiny little threads to his skin and the only way to safely take them off was to go back to Jael and have him do it. 

Peter was fine with that, was fine with staying around Xandar because it meant he could start gaining some intel and hashing out an action plan. The first thing he needed to do, though, was convince Kraglin that he was being a noble fucking idiot. He’d sure as hell go find Yondu on his own, but he really wanted Kraglin at his side.

They were eating dinner together on their fourth night in the room, and Kraglin was silent and broody as usual. Peter didn’t like it, didn’t like this somber and angry Kraglin at all. He missed goofy, gross, jackass Kraglin. He picked a vegetable off of his plate and flicked it so it smacked his friend right in the middle of his forehead, plopping off to land on his plate and leaving a buttery little smudge on his skin.

“Quill, you’re a fucking child,” Kraglin said simply, scooping up the fallen veggie and examining it before shrugging and popping it into his mouth.

“And you’re a fucking idiot, so I guess we’re even.”

 _Flick_. Another veggie hit Kraglin’s face, this time sticking to his cheek and sliding down to catch in his beard. There it was, the annoyed twitch of an eyebrow, the grinding of teeth. _Emotion._ Jesus, finally. He flicked another scrap of food and Kraglin was up, slamming his fork on the table and snarling at Peter.

Peter laughed and tossed up his hands. “There he is! My old buddy Kraglin, back from the dead!”

“ _What is wrong with you?”_ Kraglin snarled, and Peter could sense the fight before it broke out, could feel the crackling tension in the air, could see on Kraglin’s face that he needed it or he was liable to explode with pent up emotions.

Peter barely dodged the fist aimed at his face, falling back out of his chair and rolling to the side. “Fuck, that hurt,” he hissed. Kraglin landed a punch to his face when he rolled to his feet, and Peter ducked in under his arms to ram his own fist into the other man’s stomach. Kraglin brought his elbows down on Peter’s back, knocking the breath out of him, and Peter quickly straightened out to thrust his good shoulder into Kraglin’s chest, grunting when the movement pulled at his healing ribs.

Kraglin took advantage of his pain and knocked him to the ground but Peter rolled immediately and used his momentum to sweep Kraglin’s legs out from under him. He launched himself at the other man before he got the chance to rise and, panting from exertion, knelt with each leg pinning down an arm, hands on the scrawny shoulders beneath him.

Peter wiped the blood off of his mouth with his shoulder and grinned, toothy and bloody, at his friend underneath him. “Feel better?”

Kraglin was panting too, but he looked far more open than he had since he’d picked Peter up from outside Talon’s ship. He sighed once and let his body relax, and Peter rolled off, with one parting pat to the other man’s cheek, to lay on the floor next to him.

“So,” he started and Kraglin groaned dejectedly. “Shut up, Krags. _So_ , I’ve been thinking.”

“Really? I don’t see no smoke comin from yer ears.”

“Oh, ha fricking ha we’re all very amused. Can it, stick man, I got something to say.”

Kraglin rolled his eyes and gestured for Peter to continue.

“So I figure we can probably find out what Talon is doing with Yondu if we feel out some big players, right? The Broker is here, and let me tell you that he’s got a lot more contacts than he lets on and –“

“Yondu is _dead_ , Peter! Just…Can’t you just let it go? I’m hurting, too, okay? He was – I – “

Peter patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “I know, buddy, but I am telling you that he is definitely not dead.”

“How the hell would you know that? He sure as hell seemed to think he was gonna die if he didn’t make it out!”

Peter frowned. “Yeah, I know, but I think Talon is too stupid, too full of himself to kill Yondu. You know, he’s wanted me dead since I was, like, ten years old and he had me on his ship for _nine_ days before he decided what to do with me.”

Kraglin rolled over onto his side to look at Peter, wiping at the blood dripping out of his nose and only succeeding in smearing it across his cheek. “What’s your point?”

“My _point_ is that when he did decide what to do with me it definitely wasn’t kill me right away. I’m sure he planned to kill me eventually, but he wanted to get as much as he could out of me first. He was gonna try and ransom me to Stakar.”

Kraglin looked shifty for just a moment, but Peter didn’t miss the expression. He logged it away for future examination because, weird, but there were more important things at stake at the moment. “My _point_ is that I don’t think he’d just kill Yondu. I don’t know what history they have, but Talon hates Yondu almost as much as he hates me and that’s saying something. Add to that the fact that Yondu helped me escape? No, Talon’s fucking pissed and he’s not an idiot. He knows he can get something out of Yondu if he keeps him alive.”

“What could he possibly get out of him? He ain’t comin’ to us for a ransom, that’s for sure, and the crew would laugh themselves sick if he tried to get them for it. I don’t understand what you’re getting at here, Quill.”

“No, no ransom. But you know who’s been known to spend a shit ton of money on rare species like Centaurians?”

The pieces seemed to click into place in Kraglin’s mind. Peter saw the exact moment realization dawned, saw the moment that feeling of apprehension slip over his features.

“ _Slave traders?_ You think he’s gonna sell Yondu off to the slavers?”

Peter nodded, pressing a hand to his compressed rib out of habit. “I think that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He doesn’t just have a Cantaurian, he has a well-known, stronger than hell, former battle slave Centaurian with a Yaka arrow. It’s like the prettiest package deal a slaver could ask for.”

They both went quiet, the gravity of the situation pressing them into silent contemplation. Peter was imagining Yondu, strong and wild and crazy Yondu, thrust back into the same life he’d lived when he was a child, saw him forced down, forced to break, saw all that energy crushed under a giant Kree boot and it made his heart ache.

“Well, fuck,” Kraglin said finally, and Peter nodded in agreement.

\---------------------------------------

Turned out the Broker did indeed know how to find the slave traders. It had taken some… _creative_ means to get him to talk, but Kraglin always had been very handy with interrogation techniques and eventually they got out of him that he sometimes acquired ‘specimens’ for the traders and knew how he could get a hold of them.

It took an additional week for the Broker to get in contact with someone in the trade, but when he did he found out that, yes, they had recently acquired a very rare warrior species. His contact had been excited about the situation, and thanks to his loose lips the Broker confirmed Peter’s suspicions.

Peter and Kraglin offered him obscene amounts of money to set up a meeting for them. They figured that when they raided the ship they’d be able to loot it, and the only prize they were interested in was big and blue and worth every little unit they managed to pick up during the rescue.

“They’re going to be outside Arago-7 in ten days’ time,” the Broker informed them, steepling his fingers on the glass display case in front of him. “I did not inform them of your arrival, but it would be exceedingly easy to trace this little situation back to me so I sincerely hope there will be no survivors?”

Peter and Kraglin exchanged twin menacing grins and Peter put his hand on the blaster strapped to his waist. “Oh, don’t worry about that. There won’t be a single living soul on that ship when we’re done with them. Believe me.”

They spent the next five days collecting supplies. The stole food and first aid equipment, yes, but their main target was weapons. They had plenty of blasters, but Peter wanted something a little more explosive for their mission, wanted to really send those dickwads off with a bang. Lucky for them, Xandar was positively swarming with Nova officers. Peter would act as a diversion, his healing body too stiff for his usual stealth act, and Kraglin would sneak around and pick off a grenade here, a few rounds for a blaster rifle there. It was a beautiful collection, really, and Peter couldn’t wait to use it.

When it came to their last day on the planet, after Peter had gotten his healing wraps removed, they moved in for the big heist: the blaster rifle all those rounds belonged to. Peter waited around until the Nova truck was in front of the grocery store before not-so-subtly slipping a few items into his open jacket. He was, obviously, caught, and while the officer (Rhomann Dey, what a dumb name) read him his rights Kraglin snuck right into that truck and right back out with the massive weapon.

He promised to be a good kid, promised he wouldn’t do it again, and was let go with a slap on the wrist and a petty theft charge. Then he and Kraglin were out of there before anyone knew what had hit them and Peter was _finally_ able to breathe again, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before they’d rained holy hellfire down on the slavers who had his… well… his _captain_.

\------

When the meeting day finally came Peter was about to burst from his pent up energy. He was pacing the ship, up to the pilot’s seat, back to the kitchen, back to the pilot’s seat. Kraglin had long ago stopped telling him to sit down or die, and Peter had long ago stopped wondering how Kraglin could remain so infuriatingly calm. There was so much that could go wrong with this, so many things that could happen. All of the very worst possibilities were whirring through Peter’s mind over, and over, and over until he thought he was going to go insane. He supposed Kraglin was just a better Ravager than him, had been doing things like this for so many more years than Peter that he knew how to bury his restlessness under a layer of calm he probably didn’t really feel.

 

 _Finally,_ after what felt like hours of waiting, the ship in question pulled out of the jump. It was about the size of the _Eclector_ , maybe, or a small pleasure cruise vessel. Peter scoffed at the pomp of it, at the blinding silver hull, at the swirling purple design winding over the surface. It was extravagant and impractical and Peter could not wait to blow it the fuck up because _fuck these guys_ who were so full of themselves; these asswads who traded in people as if they were objects and flaunted their wealth from it like it was something to be _prideful_ about.

“It’s showtime,” Kraglin said, cracking his neck.

Peter said nothing, just tapped the button to release his mask and nodded, giving himself a quick pat-down to make sure he had everything he needed. He clapped Kraglin on the shoulder once and then made his way down to the airlock. Once there he took a deep calming breath before launching himself out of the ship, activating the rockets on his boots and careening silently towards the slaver’s vessel.

Hacking into the outer airlock was so easy Peter was actually almost a little disappointed. It took him maybe five minutes, and once he was in he didn’t hear any alarms, didn’t see any flashing lights, didn’t see anyone rushing around to figure out who had broken into his ship. Hubris was a funny thing, and Peter supposed that these pompous assholes had been powerful and rich enough for so long that they thought they were invincible. Maybe they would have been, too, if they hadn’t bought someone who meant so much to a very determined couple of men. Their system was intricate, Nova had too much on their hands, too much going on all the time to spare anyone to smoke the slavers out, and the Ravagers generally had a ‘live and let live’ attitude when it came to criminal activities.

He only encountered one man on his way to the cargo hold. He hadn’t even stood a chance. Peter slashed his throat before he’d uttered a single syllable, the look of shock and terror becoming a permanent fixture on his features, and then stowed the body haphazardly in a nearby storage closet. He wiped the knife off on his pants and continued on his way, and when he reached the cargo hold and peeked through the little window to see that there were a few men inside, well, hey, casualties happened. He overrode the lock on the inner doors, grinning as it bolted into place.

“Alright Krags, your entry point’s comin right up,” he said into his mask’s communicator, and then he pushed up the lever to open the outer doors and watched through the window as the screaming slavers were sucked out into the vacuum of space with all of their spare food and supplies.

“Whoops, my bad guys!” he whispered, chuckling darkly.

Kraglin’s ship pulled into the bay and Peter locked the outer doors again and jogged to meet him at the bottom of the ramp. Kraglin was grinning, armed to the teeth, one positively massive Nova-issue blaster rifle hefted over his shoulder. “Ya know, you see the weirdest shit in space. Coulda sworn I saw some jackasses takin’ a swim out there.”

Peter laughed, strapping weapon upon weapon to his person and pulling his full to the brim satchel over his shoulder. “What can I say? Thought they’d enjoy the view more from out there, you know? Gonna be one hell of a light show in this joint.”

When they’d emptied out the ship’s weapons supply they made their way to the door leading to the rest of the ship and Peter hooked the headphones of his Walkman around his neck. The slavers may not have noticed Peter breaking in, but they sure as hell noticed when their cargo hatch opened and everything they had went spilling out into space. As men started shouting and rounding the corner, Peter hiked the volume all the way up and pressed play, tinny music spilling out into the hallway.

_Ooga-chaka, ooga-ooga_

_Ooga- chaka, ooga-ooga_

Kraglin grinned at him and flipped on the blaster rifle and Peter unstrapped his own two quad blasters. When the first man slid around the corner Peter gave a jaunty little wave and called out, “oh, hey man! Got somethin’ here for ya.”

The hole that the blaster rifle blew through the man’s chest was something inspired. There was no time to admire its handiwork, though, as the rest of the men were starting to come into view and Peter and Kraglin were sufficiently occupied.

_I’m hooked on a feeling_

One, two, three, four men down, both quad blasters humming and buzzing in his hands.

_I’m high on believing_

_That you’re in love with me_

Peter skipped over a body, landing with a skid in a pool of his blood, and used his momentum to boot another man into the wall. He hummed as he shot him between the eyes.

_Lips as sweet as candy_

_It’s taste stays on my mind_

Someone aimed a blaster at Peter’s head, but Kraglin elbowed him in the face and blew a hole through his stomach with the rifle. Peter mowed down six more men in quick succession, Kraglin at his back doing the same on the other side and it was heady and cathartic. When his blasters ran out of charge he stowed them in their holsters and took out the next round of weapons. Peter had never in his life taken so much pleasure out of killing people but this was about dirty, angry revenge and the slaughter soothed something that had been aching in his chest for four weeks.  

_Got a bug from you, girl_

_But I don’t need no cure_

While Kraglin continued to deal with the flood of men Peter started taking little round flat disks out of his satchel and sticking them high up on the wall at intervals. The tiny lights on them blinked purple, buzzing. Someone came up behind him to stop what he was doing and he used the knife from his jacket sleeve to stab him in the throat without even turning around.

_I said I’m hooked on a feeling_

_I’m high on believing_

_That you’re in love with me_

As the music faded out and the last man fell from a shot to the knee Peter stowed one of his blasters in its holster and joined Kraglin at his side. The man they’d left alive was no soldier, was wearing some kind of silky pink ceremonial robe that contrasted terribly with his splotchy tangerine skin. Kraglin reached down to yank off the three golden chains gracing his neck and stowed them in his pocket. The man was sobbing, holding his wreck of a knee and rocking back in forth in abject terror. Peter felt no remorse as he knelt down in front of him and aimed a blaster at his temple.

“Howdy, friend,” he sing-songed, and the man let out an ugly wail.

Peter pressed the release on his mask and pulled his blaster back from the man’s head slightly. “Hey, I got a question.”

“P-please, sir, I don’t –“ A gasp and a sob. “I don’t know what you want. T-take anything, please. Just don’t – don’t kill me.”

“Y’hear that, Krags? We can have whatever we want!”

Kraglin took to one knee next to Peter and hoisted his blaster rifle over his shoulder. “Well, ain’t that mighty kind of him?”

The man sniffled and Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “There _is_ something we want, I guess. You know, besides killing all of you sick fuckers.”

“P-please! Anything!” the man cried, blood gushing from his knee.

Peter nodded as if considering. “Yeah, okay, well, here’s the thing. There’s this man you’ve got on board. He’s hard to forget. Tall, blue, got a red metal implant in his skull. Y’seen him around by any chance?”

“Y-you want Udonta? I don’t - “   

The man screamed in pain as Peter pressed down on his injured knee and Peter smelled the acrid scent of urine as he wet his pants. “Sorry, what was that?”

“H-h-he’s on deck three, okay? He’s supposed to be sold today, though, h-he’s got g-guards.”

“And his arrow?” Kraglin asked, head cocked to the side.

“I don’t know where they keep it!”

Peter rolled his eyes and pressed his blaster against the guy’s forehead, pushing until the back of his skull was forced firmly against the wall. “I’m gonna make this real simple for you, buddy. You can tell us where the arrow is – no, don’t fucking pretend you don’t know, do I look like an idiot to you? You can tell us where it is and you can live, or you can not tell us where it is and my friend here,” he motioned over his shoulder to Kraglin, who wore a menacing sneer, “can pull the answer forcefully from your throat, and then you can die. Your choice, man, but between you and me there’s no way I’d want to be on the receiving end of the things Kraglin knows how to do.”  

“The high priest has it! He doesn’t let it out of his sight. It’s in a thin metal box he keeps strapped to his waist. P-please, I don’t know anything else!”

Peter smiled brightly and stowed his blaster, patting the man once on his cheek and standing up. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He really had meant to let the little asshole live for a while longer, had meant to give him a chance of escape, but then he had to open his stupid fucking mouth and, well.

“He’ll make a f-fine slave, sir. H-he’s a beautiful specimen.”

Peter and Kraglin froze and, as one, slowly turned their heads to look at the bloody and broken man on the floor. Then, also as one, they raised their weapons and blasted him through the wall.

\---

As the alarms blared overhead and true chaos broke out on the ship, Peter and Kraglin decided it was in their best interest to split up. Peter watched as Kraglin jogged away to find the ‘high priest’ and then turned to make his way to the third floor. By the time he reached the room Yondu was supposedly in he had used up the charge on three more blasters and set off several little explosions. He was bloody and sweaty and covered in soot, but as he took out the four guards at Yondu’s door (‘guards’ was a relatively loose term here. They had the shittiest aim Peter had ever seen.) he felt his heart skip a beat.

The door creaked open to reveal a gunmetal grey room, completely at odds with the posh interior of the rest of the ship. It was dim, and cold, and the air was moist, and right there in the very center of the room was a man. He was wearing some kind of armor, one thick gold plated metal piece covering his left pectoral and upper arm. His right arm was covered in golden cuffs, and he was wearing low slung red pants with golden plates covering each thigh. The rest of him was bare but for the thick ropey golden chains around his neck, laying to rest on his sternum. He was chained to the wall by each arm, trapped in an uncomfortable looking hanging position with his legs slightly spread, hard red eyes trained sharply on Peter as he entered the room.

Peter’s heart lurched as he found himself in front of his captain. He shakily reached up and unclasped the red and gold gag, letting it fall to the floor with a metallic clang. He noticed that someone had pierced Yondu’s right ear, and there were four golden hoops in it, three in the lobe and one in the cartilage at the top.

Yondu worked his jaw and cricked his neck, let out a relieved sigh as Peter set to work on his shackles. It wasn’t until the chains had both clattered to the floor at their feet that either of them said anything. Yondu’s voice was raspier than usual from disuse, low and gruff, and he was rubbing at his bloody wrists with a pained look.

“Thought I told you not to come back for me, boy.”

Hearing _boy_ spill from those blue lips gave Peter a deep sense of satisfaction, and he knew that from then on being called _boy_ was going to be A Thing for him. He raised an eyebrow at his captain with a quirky grin. “When the hell have I ever really listened to orders?”

Yondu barked out a laugh and pulled Peter to him by the back of his neck. The kiss was short, a brief hard press of lips, and then they pressed their foreheads tightly together and Peter screwed his eyes shut against the relieved tears threatening to spill from them. He let out a shaky sigh and ran his hands down Yondu’s heavily scarred and tattooed chest, assuring himself that he was whole and here and still perfect.

“I missed you,” he whispered, afraid that if he said it too loud Yondu would be gone from his grasp.

His captain rubbed the back of Peter’s neck soothingly and closed his own eyes. “Missed you too, boy.”

Peter could have stayed like that for hours, but the last thing he wanted was to get caught and so he moved away, pulling Yondu with him. He unstrapped the other blaster rifle and one of the Nova pistols he had in a holster and handed them to Yondu who hefted them with a grateful toothy grin.

They’d only mowed down one hallway full of people before Kralin found them. He had green blood dripping down his face, a bloody knife in one hand, and the Yaka metal box in the other. Yondu plucked the arrow from its case and it hummed to life, the radioactive red glow matching the one coming from his implant. He strapped the blaster rifle to his back and, as more men began jamming into the hallway, he let out a sharp little whistle and the arrow whizzed off.

Peter didn’t know how long they were in that ship, but as they flew off he pressed the button to detonate the little bombs he’d planted all over. The blast was beautiful, glass spewing out into space as the sequence of explosives went off, first one floor, then the next, and the next until the entire ship was nothing more than space debris. Kraglin flew and Yondu stood behind Peter, fingers brushing ever so slightly, and his world finally fell back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to get all of the crazy stuff out of the way before all the nookie-nookie started ;) Next chapter's gonna be a lot of fun, I promise. Let me know what you guys think!


	9. Come A Little Bit Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally just dirty smutty smut. No plot here, ladies and gents. Ye be warned.  
> Also, I have literally never in my life written a sex scene, and all of my stuff is unbeta'd but I usually let my chapters rest for a day and then go back over them and fine-tune. I didn't this time because I wanted to let these boys have their moment SO BADLY. So forgive any weirdness, and enjoy!

Later, after Peter and Kraglin had taken turns washing off all of the blood and soot and unmentionable things covering their bodies, Peter walked into his little room to find his captain sitting on the edge of his bed. He had his head in his hands, just staring at his armor covered thighs as if contemplating whether the answer to life was waiting in the shiny metal plates. He was still wearing the outfit the slavers had put him in, and now that they were no longer fighting for their lives Peter had the chance to admire the way it truly did accentuate his body. The way the long thin chain of the necklace, the cut of the shoulder plate, drew the eye down all of that scarred and tattooed flesh, the way the low-slung plants rested on his hips, leaving little to the imagination and yet still tempting a person to want to see _more._ It was meant to show off how strong he was, how many scars he wore from previous battles, how he’d be just as formidable a bed partner as he was a warrior. The outfit meant to show off the ‘merchandise’ the slavers had been offering.

That thought left a sour taste in Peter’s mouth. He frowned and shut the door behind him before dropping to the floor to kneel between Yondu’s knees. Yondu sat back and let Peter scoot closer so that those powerful thighs were wrapped around his torso, and Peter sighed when one large blue hand carded through his still-damp hair.

“Yer crazy, you know that boy?” Yondu said as Peter turned his head to nuzzle his arm.

“Only because you made me that way.”

The hand in his hair stilled and tugged, just a little, prompting Peter to look up and meet the serious red eyes above him. “I ain’t joking. You could’ve _died,_ Petey, twice.”

Peter turned to nip at Yondu’s forearm. “So? You could’ve died too. Or worse. I couldn’t just… I could never leave you to a fate like that, Yondu.”

Yondu sighed and leaned down to press their foreheads together, a gesture Peter was growing to love. His breath ghosted over Peter’s cheeks, lips almost close enough to touch, and Peter let out a shuddery exhale. When their lips did meet, it was tender and sweet and tentative. Peter pushed up on his knees so they were at a more even level and went to run his hands up Yondu’s thighs. He frowned when he was prevented by the metal armor plates, when Yondu tensed at the soft sound Peter’s fingers made against the metal. He understood, then, how Yondu must be feeling. Understood how being in slave garb must be doing all sorts of things to his mental state, how being put back in that position had to have brought up so much past trauma that just the thought made Peter dizzy.

Peter broke the kiss and stood, pulling Yondu with him. He silenced any protestations with a kiss, and then started to move his lips across the stubbly blue cheek. He kissed down his jaw, hands roving from the bare stomach and up to his chest, slithering around his shoulders to reach the clasp on the necklaces. When they fell to the ground with a rattle Peter peppered kisses down Yondu’s throat, his nipping teeth earning a soft little huff.

Next he unbuckled the soft leather strap holding the shoulder plate in place, tossing it behind him haphazardly before pulling off the red padding underneath. He ran his tongue down Yondu’s raised collarbone, breathing in the musky scent of his skin. Then he kissed his way slowly down the exposed chest, stopping only to suck little purple hickeys into the skin and ending at one navy blue nipple. He sucked it gently into his mouth, pulling a husky groan from Yondu’s throat as he rolled the hard little nub between his teeth.

“Peter,” Yondu breathed, trying to pull him up for a kiss.

Peter waved his hands away, “shh, I’m doing something here,” and continued on his task. He licked and kissed his way across to the other side of Yondu’s chest, paying homage to the nub on that side, and then up his shoulder, down his arm until he reached the first golden cuff.  When he unclasped it and tossed it to the side, he left a bite mark on the underside of the bicep it exposed. Yondu’s hips gave a little start, and Peter made a note to remember the little sensitive spot for later.

He continued exposing and kissing the muscular arm, ending at the palm of Yondu’s hand and nuzzling his nose into it, breathing deeply. He ran his tongue lightly down until he could suck one of the blue digits into his mouth and Yondu _moaned,_ small and low in his throat. The sound went straight to Peter’s cock and he felt his breath hitch.

He had a mission though, and so moved his attention from those long fingers to Yondu’s sternum, which he gifted with an open-mouthed kiss, moving down, kissing, sucking, biting, licking, until he fell to his knees and reached the hem of the supple leather pants. He pulled the golden sash off and dropped it to the floor and then dipped his tongue down into one side of the V at Yondu’s hips. He didn’t remove the pants, though, just kissed down over the hem. He did, however, pause to mouth at the bulge there, breathing in the spicy scent of it and groaning. He pressed a hand to his own achingly hard member before moving on, kissing his way down the left inseam.

Yondu’s breathing was ragged as Peter pulled off the thigh plates, one after another, and tossed them over his shoulder. When the second one had hit the ground Yondu decided he had had enough. He reached down and pulled Peter sharply to his feet, pushing against him with his body until he hit the wall. Then they were kissing, hot and dirty and rough. Peter’s hips jerked forward, and the feeling of his pulsing cock rubbing Yondu’s sent his head reeling.

He shoved his tongue into Yondu’s waiting mouth, twining their tongues, moaning at the slightly rough texture. He ran his hands down Yondu’s chest, scratching with his short nails, pushing his hips forward for more of that sweet friction. The other man grunted and hiked Peter’s loose t-shirt up, up, up until he could tear it over his head and toss it to the side.

When Yondu raked his nails down Peter’s back, ending with a bruising squeeze to his ass that pushed their lengths harder together, Peter threw his head back into the wall. He didn’t feel the thump, just the large burning hands through his pans as they dug into his cheeks. Yondu panted into his mouth, shoulders heaving, and then nipped at his bottom lip.

That was it for Peter. He could not take anymore, needed less teasing and more action because he’d been waiting is whole goddamn life for this moment. He shoved Yondu’s hips away and scrabbled to undo the clasp holding the tight leather pants up. Yondu seemed to get the idea, and did the same to Peter until they were both, _finally_ , naked and then Yondu pressed up against his body again and Peter let out a low, deep moan, which Yondu swallowed as he slotted their mouths together once more.

“Yondu, fuck, please, I can’t – I need you,” Peter husked, and Yondu responded by running one hand down, down his back until it slipped between his cheeks to tease at his hole.

Peter let out a truly embarrassing noise and started to push Yondu back until the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell back with a little grunt. Peter hastily dug out the jar of lube he kept in the bedside table and tossed it onto the bed before climbing onto the other man’s body. He couldn’t resist rubbing their lengths together a few more times, Yondu’s fingers digging bruises into his hips.

 Those unbelievably warm hands left him and he was about to protest but a second later he felt one thick blue finger, slick with lube, pressing against his hole and he bored down onto it, ignoring the sting and instead moaning at the intrusion. The sight of Yondu beneath him, bottom lip sucked between jagged teeth, red eyes glazed with arousal, made Peter's cock twitch. He pushed back onto that finger and groaned. "More, gimme more, please Yondu. Need it." 

Yondu complied, pushing a second slick finger inside and groaning at the feeling of the tight muscles clenching around his blue digits. "Gonna fuck you so good, Petey," he panted, chest heaving, brow glistening already with sweat. "Wanted this sweet little ass for so long, stars, can't wait to be inside you." 

Peter moaned and grabbed onto his length, needing friction, needing something, because that raspy voice was doing so many things to him, making him feel heady and desperate. Yondu smacked his hand away though, scissoring out his two inserted fingers a few times before adding a third. By the time Peter was prepared, hole wet and loose and sloppy with dripping lube, they were both out of their minds with want. When Peter shoved Yondu's hands away and just fell back to impale himself with one stroke, Yondu threw his head back and cried out. 

Peter gave his hips an experimental roll and Yondu's implant glowed to life, radioactive red lighting up the dim room and Peter didn't know why but, hell, that really fucking turned him on. He moved again, pulling up until Yondu was almost out of him and then slamming back down. Yondu grabbed onto his hips, digging in his nails, and Peter rolled his hips again, setting a slow pace, teasing and languid and wanting to drag it out for as long as possible. 

Yondu wasn't having it, though. He shoved up with his hips and rolled them until their positions were flipped, and the pushed Peter's legs back until he could fully bury himself in that hot hole. "Tryna kill me. Need to fuck you, boy, need it so bad." 

Peter cried out as Yondu pulled his hips back, his thick length sliding out, and then slammed back in until Peter could feel the other man's balls slapping against his ass. Then he did it again, and again, and again, hard and fast and deep, groaning low in his throat like every thrust was his salvation. When he rolled his hips just right and found that sweet spot within Peter's body, he adjusted his position so that every thrust pushed against it and Peter was reduced to a blithering mess beneath him, helpless to do anything but clench his fists in the sheets. Yondu was panting and moaning above him, and the obscene wet smack of their flesh meeting over, and over, and over was going to haunt Peter's dreams for the rest of his life. He reached up to tug at Yondu's neck until their lips met. It was less of a kiss and more just them panting into each other's mouths, tongues scrabbling together, drooly and filthy, and Peter was going to die, right here, from this perfect moment. 

"Hell, I'm gonna - fuck," Yondu husked, hips stuttering, and then he reached between them to grab Peter's length and one, two more pumps of his hips had him cumming, filling Peter's hole with warmth. That combined with the calloused hand on his cock and the hard bite Yondu delivered to his shoulder as he came sent Peter over the edge, and he finished with a long, loud moan, stars dancing before his eyes, warm ropes of cum spurting out onto his chest and stomach. 

Yondu, in one last effort to really drive Peter out of his mind, leaned down and lapped up Peter's cum, running his rough tongue over Peter's chest and stomach until it was clean, closing his eyes and savoring the flavor. If Peter had had anything left in him, the sight of Yondu, blissed out with a drop of Peter's cum on his kiss-swollen blue lips, would have sent him over the edge again. As it stood, all he could manage was a sharp little jerk of his hips, which made Yondu chuckle darkly. 

Yondu pulled himself out of Peter with a wet squelch, and then used the golden sash from the slave outfit to wipe them both clean. He had tossed the rag in the trash and begun to pull himself to his feet and Peter, not thinking, reached out and grasped his wrist. "Wait. Stay." 

Yondu cocked his head to the side and Peter's heart thudded in his chest. Fuck, he hadn't meant to say that. He may have been absolutely head over goddamn heels in love with Yondu but he knew that there as no way Yondu felt the same. Sex was one thing. Spending the night in each other's arms was completely different, intimate and vulnerable in a way no Ravager would permit themselves to be. After a second's hesitation, though, Yondu nodded and crawled up onto the bed with Peter, pushing the other man around until they found a comfortable position and he could cover them with the thick warm blanket.

Peter was so close to drifting off when he felt Yondu's stiff body relax, felt him nuzzle his nose into the hair at the nape of Peter's neck and take a deep calming breath. He drifted off with Yondu's furnace warm body pressed tightly against his back, one thick muscled arm draped over his side, and the most contented smile he'd worn in a long time gracing his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys and your reviews! Is it weird for me to ask you to tell me what you thought of basically porn I've written?


	10. I Want You Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, you guys are always amazing and I love you.  
> Secondly, I done messed up guys. Peter is supposed to be like thirty-three when the movie starts, but here he's going to be twenty-six because my timeline didn't work out right XD My bad!  
> Third, don't kill me, k thanks.

Peter woke alone, but the area where Yondu had slept was still slightly warm. He rolled over and buried his face in the indent Yondu’s head had left in the pillow overnight and breathed in his lingering scent. His ass ached in the most delicious way, reminding him of the night before, of that hard body pressed against him, rough hands, a wet tongue. It may be sappy as all hell, but he couldn’t help feeling unbelievably pleased that Yondu had spent the night, couldn’t help the little stutter in his chest when he thought about his captain wrapped around him as they slept. He sighed, content, and drifted off to sleep again.

When he woke next it was to Yondu standing above him, arms crossed and brow raised. Peter smirked and rolled over onto his back, letting the sheet slide down his body as he stretched his arms over his head. He was half hard, and he pushed his hips forward slightly in invitation. Yondu let his eyes rake down Peter’s body, and Peter could swear he felt the hot gaze rove down every inch of him.

“Well? You just gonna stare all day or what? I got a bit of a situation here.” He ran a hand down his chest and stomach and gave his cock a little stroke through the sheet.

Yondu’s nostrils flared and his pupils dilated but he remained standing, tearing his gaze from Peter’s _situation_ with herculean effort. “You been sleepin all day, boy. We got shit to do, people to kill, a ship to take back. Ain’t got time for nookie-nookie right now.”

Peter nodded, serious expression firmly in place, but slipped his hand beneath the sheet nonetheless and grasped himself. “Sure, sure. I get it. Just gimme like five minutes, yeah? Just gotta - yeah that’s good.”

 Yondu’s eyes were drawn down as Peter caressed himself to full hardness. Peter could see the effect his show was having on his captain, evidenced by the increasing bulge in his pants, and so he used his feet to pull the sheet farther down until he was fully exposed. When Yondu still didn’t move, he ran his other hand down to fondle his balls, then lower, lower.

When he reached his hole Yondu broke, grasping himself through his pants with a breathy little noise. “Aw, hell, can’t resist a pretty show like that.”

He tossed his jacket to the floor, and then his shirt, kicking his boots off haphazardly and almost tripping in his haste. He grew impatient with his pants though, and crawled on top of Peter to slot their mouths together before they were fully off. Peter raked his nails down Yondu’s chest, panting into his mouth as their tongues twisted together and Yondu ground his hips down. He ran his hands down his captain’s back, loving the rough feeling of all of his scars, and slipped them into his pants to squeeze that firm blue ass.

He needed more, though, and he used his body weight to flip them, then slid down to kneel on the floor, pulling Yondu to the edge of the bed by his thick thighs. He yanked off the offending red leather pants that were keeping him from Yondu’s smooth hairless skin. The fact that Yondu had been going commando only served to turn him on more, and he found himself already leaking.

“Chu doin’ down there, boy?” Yondu asked, voice rough and deep and scratchy with want.

Peter didn’t answer, just pushed Yondu’s legs forcefully back until they were spread and his hips were hiked slightly in the air. He licked his lips at the sight of that navy pucker, and then leaned down to press his tongue flat against it. Yondu was unbelievably responsive to Peter’s ministrations, hips bucking slightly, a loud surprised moan leaving his lips like it was torn from him.

Neither one heard the knock at the door, but they did hear when the door slid open and Kraglin walked in, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him with a little, “oh.”

Yondu didn’t even look up, just grabbed Peter’s quad blaster off the bedside table and clicked it on, pointing it dead at Kraglin’s chest. “I swear, Obfonteri, you don’t back the fuck outta here right now we’re gonna have a whole lotta pretty red paint decorating these here walls.”

He was gone in seconds, and Peter chuckled. “Think we’ve scarred him for life. I feel a little bad. He has a thing for you, ya know.”

Yondu clicked off the weapon and dropped it to the bedside table. “Been down that road enough times to know that, Pete.”

Peter’s heart clenched in his chest, his arousal dimming, and he knew it was so incredibly illogical to be jealous of Kraglin, to be jealous of anyone Yondu had fucked. He _knew_ Yondu didn’t do relationships, knew he wasn’t a commitment type of guy, but now he couldn’t help wondering just how many of the crew he had slept with. He couldn’t help wondering when Yondu would tire of him like he had Kraglin and move onto the next person.

“Boy, if you don’t get the hell on with it soon I’m gonna whither up and die up here.”

Peter didn’t know how long he had with Yondu, but he decided in that moment to savor it. He pushed Yondu’s thighs further apart, leaning down and setting out to show Yondu just how good he could give it to him. He wanted to ruin his captain for anyone else, wanted to leave such a lasting impression that no one else could ever measure up. As he slipped his tongue into his captain’s hole, adding a crooked finger to the spit-slicked mixture, Yondu groaned loudly and clenched his fists in the sheets and Peter thought that maybe he had a chance.

\--------

Kraglin had fed the crew on the _Eclector_ some bullshit story about a job he, Yondu, and Peter had taken, about how they could be gone a few months at the most, and so the shift back into their usual life was relatively seamless. They even had a sizable amount of loot to show for their efforts, as there was no way in hell they were going to give _everything_ they’d gotten off of the slaver’s ship to the Broker.

Yondu’s determination to hunt down and put a bloody end to Talon was admirable. He still took missions, still met his quota like everyone else, but no more than that. The rest of his time was devoted to his search for revenge. Peter spent most of his time at Yondu’s side, fucking against walls, in closets, in the showers. He joined Yondu on his Talon centric excursions, and that was the only time they were together in an actual bed. Yondu seemed to have A Thing about letting Peter into his quarters. He never outright refused, but once Peter had knocked on his door in the middle of the night and Yondu had come out into the hall and taken him against the wall. Another time Peter had showed up at his room in the wee hours of the morning and Yondu had dragged him into the showers where he let Peter have him draped over the half-wall dividing the stalls.

Months went by like that, peppered with missions apart but mostly time spent in each other’s company. Peter held his love for Yondu close to his chest, had long ago given up on telling himself to stop being such a goddamn sap and get over it. He wished he could say that being with Yondu so many times was quenching his thirst, dulling the ache inside of him, but every time only made it worse. He was disgustingly devoted to his captain and it was wrong and so fucking stupid because he _knew_ he was going to get hurt; he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Better to have loved and lost and all that shit.

It was six long, agonizing months before they caught wind of their slippery purple friend. It was Kraglin who found him, naturally. He came skidding onto the bridge one day after a week-long mission, bruised and bloody but grinning toothily from ear to ear. He scampered up to Yondu and Peter, who had been bent over a holo map of some planet called Morag (where there was an orb or something the Broker wanted them to obtain), and slapped his holopad on the table in front of them. He flicked the screen and the map they were looking at shrunk to make way for his own map.

“There! I found that stupid motherfucker!” Kraglin hooted, pumping his fist in excitement.

“Found who?” Peter asked, eyebrow raised.

“Talon, you idjit! He’s right there, just outside of Dracona. They’s docked there, and I heard it from one a his men before I killed him that Talon’s gonna be on planet for two weeks. _Two weeks!_ It takes three days to get there from here, four if we take the whole crew.”

Peter and Yondu stared at him, mouths slightly agape, unable to immediately wrap their minds around the revelation. When it finally did click, Yondu ruffled Kraglin’s hair once in excitement, placing a hard kiss on his temple, pulled Peter in for one bruising kiss on the lips, and then dashed off to set their course and send out a call for all mission bound crew members to hightail it back to the ship.

Peter grinned at Kraglin and tossed an arm over his scrawny shoulders. “Way to fucking go, man! I can’t believe it. You are a gift, Krags, have I ever told you that?”

Kraglin’s smile had faded, and he looked shiftily across the room to make sure Yondu wasn’t within earshot before ducking his head to whisper to Peter. “Hey Pete, I been thinkin about something lately.”

“Well that’s dangerous,” Peter joked, still too elated to catch onto Kraglin’s change in mood.

“I’m serious here. Look, I’ve been thinkin about this a lot lately and I need ta get it off my chest before we’re too busy or dead for me to say it.”

Peter frowned. “Okay, you little weirdo. Shoot.”

“I know you and the captain have been having a lot of fun recently,” Kraglin started and Peter’s heart dropped because Kraglin was about the last person he wanted to talk to about this.

“Hey, look, I appreciate the advice but – “

“Shut up, Quill, and listen to me!”

Peter zipped his lips, unused to Kraglin being loud and demanding.

“I just wanted to say that I’ve _been_ where you are. I know what you’re feeling. I can see it when you watch the cap’n walk away, staring at him like the sun shines outta that perfect ass. No, shut up, don’t deny it. I know what love looks like.”

Peter pulled them hastily out of the room, shutting the door behind them, before he replied. “Careful with the L-word, dude!”

Kraglin rolled his eyes. “No, _you_ be careful with the L-word. I’m tellin ya if you say that to Yondu – I can see you want to, stop being a stubborn jackass and listen – if you say that to him I promise you that you will never fuck him again. He ain’t… He doesn’t _do_ those things. Has too much pain built up in his past, too much baggage. You tell anyone I ever said this and I’ll cut out yer goddamn tongue, Quill, I swear I will. I just – I _care_ about you, alright? And I don’t wanna see you hurt like that.”

Peter was going to ask how Kraglin could possibly know all of this, but then started thinking about the way Kraglin used to watch Yondu when Peter had first joined up with the crew. He thought about the dopey expression, the way his eyes were always drawn to the captain. Then he thought about the _longing_ he sometimes saw on Kraglin’s face now and his heart broke for the man, just a little.

He clasped Kraglin on the shoulder comfortingly. “Krags, I knew you had a thing for him, but I had no idea – “

“Don’t. I don’t want your pity and this ain’t about me. I made my peace a long time ago, and I am _fine_ with how things are. I just don’t want to see the same thing happen to you.”

Peter was always a sentimental idiot, and he couldn’t resist pulling his friend in for a quick one armed hug. “Thanks, man. I care about you, too, you know?”

Kraglin pushed him away, clearly uncomfortable. “Alright, enough of that mushy stuff. Let’s go get drunk.”

\------

Peter didn’t see Yondu again for three days. They’d spent one agonizing day sitting still and waiting for the men to make their way back from whatever job they’d taken, and then they had been off, speeding towards Dracona like a fire had been lit under them. Yondu had made himself scarce, and by the time their third day of travel was upon them, when they were just a mere eight hours from their destination, Peter couldn’t wait anymore.

He’d had so much to drink that it felt like the ship was shifting underneath his boots as he stumbled his way to the captain’s quarters, whistling _Hooked on a Feeling_ loudly and out of tune as he went. When he finally reached the door he knocked and called out in what he thought was a whisper. There was no answer, and he was too drunk and not stupid enough to hack into the controls and go in anyway, so he propped himself against the wall and popped on his headphones to wait.

He’d only listened to two songs when Yondu stomped around the corner, pausing briefly when he caught site of Peter in nothing but his tight black v-neck t-shirt and a pair of ravager red leather pants. He shook his head slightly and walked over to stand in front of Peter, reaching up to push the headphones off of his ears when Peter made no move to do it himself.

“Whatchu doin out here, boy?” he asked, and Peter grinned dopily at him, his alcohol soaked mind responding to what he thought of as his pet name with glee.

“Jus waitin fer you, baby,” he slurred, running a hand down Yondu’s chest in what could have been a suggestive manner but was really just sloppy and grabby.

Yondu chuckled anyway and crowded in close, pressing his body against the slightly larger one and carding his fingers through curly ginger hair. “Baby, hmm? Call me that again, see what happens.”

Peter slipped his hands under Yondu’s vest and undershirt, hyper sensitive and unbelievably horny. Yondu leaned down to nip at his throat, nuzzling the stubble there and breathing in through his nose.

Peter bit the top of his ear, the one with the golden hoops Yondu had decided to keep in (much to Peter’s delight). “Want you so bad, _baby,_ want you to fuck me till I can’t walk _,_ ” he husked.

Yondu actually _growled_ , pushing up until he could meet Peter’s lips and then kissing him like it was going to give him life. Their kisses were usually wet and sloppy, but Peter was drunk and Yondu was in a strange kind of mood and this time it was extra filthy, spit slick and loud. Yondu pulled away long enough to rip Peter’s shirt over his head and Peter hastily shoved Yondu’s jacket off of his shoulders before moving on to unbutton his leather vest. He was too drunk to figure out that the reason Yondu’s undershirt would _not_ go over his head was because he’d left the vest hanging on his shoulders. Frustrated, he ripped a hole in the stomach of the offending material instead, groaning at the press of flesh on flesh.

He felt Yondu’s hand slip down to rub him through his pants, bucked his hips forward in response to the pressure of the warmer-than-Terran hand. When Yondu went to undo the button, though, Peter stopped him by placing his own hand over the one on his pants. “Yondu, _baby_ , I want you in a bed.”

He was going to be so goddamn embarrassed about that _baby_ thing when he sobered up, but he’d latched onto it in his drunken state and it ust kept spilling out of his lips.

Yondu frowned, hesitant, but Peter put on his best sultry expression and cupped Yondu’s aching length. “ _Please_ , I’ll make it so good for you. Ride you like a goddamn horse, so deep, so –“

Yondu cut him off with a grunt and a hard kiss, fumbling with the lock on his door until it swooshed open and he could push Peter inside. Before Peter knew what had happened he was lying in a pile of furs, buck ass naked, and Yondu was standing over him stroking his hard length, the soft double ridged head at the top tinged purple with the blood that had rushed to it.

He knelt down on the floor between Peter’s legs and spread them, rougher than Peter had been when he’d done it, nails digging into Peter’s meaty thighs and pulling a shaky moan from the younger man’s throat. Then, without any warning, he had pushed his tongue into a little point and speared it inside Peter’s hole. Peter bucked, and Yondu grasped his thighs harder, pushing down to still him and continuing to eat him out like it was his goddamn purpose in life.

Peter was a mess, keening and moaning and squirming. He thought he was going to die from the heat of it all. He tried to stroke himself and earned a sharp stinging slap to his ass for the effort, a warning to leave it alone until Yondu was ready for him. There was a time and a place to be equals in the bedroom, but at this moment being dominated was making Peter’s insides melt. He stroked himself once more, just to earn another little slap, and Yondu huffed out a laugh, the air on his sensitive hole making his cock twitch.

Yondu prepared him like a pro, tongue and fingers and so much lube, and before long he was sliding home inside of Peter, slightly trembling arms bracketing Peter’s neck on the bed. Sweat glistened on his brow, down his neck, and Peter leaned up to lick a salty stripe down his jaw and throat, hips stuttering, gagging for some kind of friction, _something_ to relieve the incredible heat raging inside of him. Yondu got the hint, pulling out nearly all the way and pushing back in with a little roll of his hips and Peter moaned. That set Yondu off, and he set a brutal pace, thrusting, groaning, panting against Peter’s lips, then his neck. He held himself up with one hand and used the other to tweak Peter’s nipples, to stroke his cock, to dig into Peter’s hips which at this rate were going to have five permanent little bruises on them.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ Peter’s drunken brain supplied as Yondu came inside of him with a few ungraceful jerks of his hips, the noises he was making sending Peter over the edge as well.

He had no idea he’d said it out loud until he felt Yondu go absolutely still above him. He cracked an eye open, blissed out and dizzy with alcohol, to see that the look on Yondu’s face was stern and angry.

“What did you just say to me, boy?” Yondu asked, still panting slightly, anger stuttering under the surface of his voice.

“I – uh – um… do?” Peter supplied unhelpfully. Then, when Yondu didn’t say a word, just stared at him like he could eat a hole through his face with his eyes, “love you, I mean. I – “

“Out,” Yondu seethed, pulling none-too-gently out of Peter and standing shakily to his feet.

Peter didn’t register what was happening, just laid there in the furs that smelled overwhelmingly of Yondu, dumbstruck.

“You fucking deaf as well as stupid? I said _out!”_

Peter scrabbled to his feet and snatched up his pants and boots, but Yondu didn’t give him enough time to put them on, just pushed him back, back, back until he was out the door. It slammed shut in his face, the noise like a physical blow. Peter shoved on his pants, then his boots, then the shirt that was still lying in the hallway. Then he made his way to one of the large bay windows and sunk down to the floor, head knocking back against the glass with a hard _thunk._

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!” He hissed, tears pricking at his eyes. He was too drunk to bother with wiping them away, and so he sat there wondering what the actual fuck he had been thinking, frustrated tears dripping down his chin. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid, couldn’t believe he had opened his big stupid goddamn mouth after Kraglin had _warned_ him not to. His heart ached, and he buried his head in the arms he had wrapped around his knees, mourning the loss of something that could have been so incredible but had barely had the chance to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... umm.. at least they got six whole months of happiness? That counts, right? Right???? I'm so sorry, but hey, Yondu's got emotional issues and everyone who has seen the sequel definitely knows it so like... yeah... I'm still sorry? And it will get better? Please don't abandon me T_T  
> ALSO, if any of you happen to hang out on Tapas (it's a super cool site. You should definitely check it out) and see a story that looks freakishly like this one but without, you know, the whole Guardians of the Galaxy thing going on, don't worry! That's me. I'm going to try and pull an E.L. James and spin this into an original work. Should be challenging and fun!


	11. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, guys! You're awesome!   
> If you want to follow my original work of this, here's the link: https://tapas.io/episode/719250  
> Even if you don't follow it, I'd appreciate some likes so that others see it! You're all amazing!

“Alright, boys, here’s how this is gonna go,” Yondu barked, standing on top of one of the tables in the mess again, Peter Pan stance in full swing, arrow exposed at his hip. Peter watched his restless pacing from his place against the back wall, nursing a splitting headache from one hell of a hangover, back aching from sleeping against the bay window the night before.

“It’s nighttime here on Dracona, so we’re gonna catch these fuckers with their hands down their pants. You kill who you want, you take what you want. I ain’t even asking for a cut.” The men stirred, some cheering, all grinning. “The only thing I want is that Achernonian fucker. Any a you so much as scratch him, and you’ll have a few new holes courtesy of this here arrow. He’s _mine,_ do you understand?”

A collective murmur rippled through the room, and Yondu stomped his foot angrily. “What was that? I said, _do you fucking understand?”_ His implant and arrow glowed to life, and the men were much more vocal about their agreement the second time around. No one but Kraglin and Peter knew what had happened between Talon and Yondu, but everyone knew about his famous temper. They all knew that Yondu was dead serious, knew he’d keep his promise if he didn’t get access to this other Ravager captain.

Satisfied, Yondu hopped down from the table and the men parted like the red sea as he made his way to the front of the crew. Peter briefly considered foregoing his usual place at Yondu’s left side (Kraglin was always on the right), but he was stubborn. He fell into step next to his captain in front of the swarm of bloodthirsty men, pretending not to notice when Yondu’s shoulders tensed.

 It was Peter who blew the door to Talon’s ship to smithereens, Peter who stood at Yondu’s shoulder, blaster rifle slung over his shoulder, as a sharp whistle rang out through the hallways and chaos erupted. They’d blown their way into the barracks, and while they’d certainly taken the sleeping men by surprise they were still Ravagers. Within seconds they were up, blasters firing, shouting and screaming.

Peter grinned as he used his rifle to blow the head clean off of one of the men, laughed as he booted another in the face and shot him through the chest. As he spun he noticed someone behind Yondu, blaster raised, and he shot him down before he could pull the trigger. He waded his way through the men to stand back to back with Yondu, who was whistling his arrow through men with brutal efficiency.

It was testament to how batshit crazy their lives were that Yondu even considered yelling at him during a fight like this. “Chu think you’re doin, boy?” he hissed over his shoulder.

Peter grunted as he used the knife from his sleeve to stab an approaching man in the jugular. “I don’t know, Yondu, having your back like I always have maybe?”

Yondu elbowed the next man in the face before his high little whistle ran him through the eye. “Don’t need no stupid kid to have my back.”

They were making their way slowly across the hall, through the piles of bodies from both crews, and Peter knew Yondu was trying to get out so that he could go find Talon. “Like hell you don’t! I’ve saved your life like five times already.”

Finally, _finally_ , they made it out of the hall. When the door swooshed closed behind them it muffled the sounds of screaming and blaster fire coming from the other room. Peter strapped his rifle to his back and pulled out one of his quad blasters instead, but before he could activate it he found himself slammed against the wall, a livid Centaurian centimeters from his face.

“Get back in there, you hear me? This is _my_ fight.” He pushed against Peter’s chest, hard and painfully. “ _My_ revenge. Ain’t no place for you here, boy.”

Peter had had enough. He was hurt, and angry, and hungover and tired of being made to feel like he was _wrong_ for the way he felt. He didn’t deserve this bullshit. He shoved Yondu off of him, peeling himself off the wall and drawing himself up to his full height. “ _Fuck. You._ ”

Yondu’s brows raised and he sneered. “What did you just say to me, boy?”

Peter was seething, heart racing, so incredibly full of righteous indignation. “You heard me! I said _fuck you,_ Yondu!”

Yondu clenched his fists and pushed his face into Peter’s, an intimidation tactic which might have worked if Peter hadn’t spent the last six months bending him over every inch of his ship. “I am still your captain, Quill. There ain’t nothin’ more between you and me now, and – “

Peter shoved him backwards until he hit the other wall, reversing their positions. “You think this is just about you? I got just as many goddamn reasons to take out that jackass as you do, and I will absolutely not let you take that from me because you’re too goddamn emotionally fucked up to handle the fact that someone actually _cares_ about you! So nut up and back the fuck off. I’m here whether you like it or not, you big blue asshole, and I ain’t got time for you to have this kind of temper tantrum.”

Yondu was panting, hot breath puffing over Peter’s cheeks and lips, and fuck if Peter didn’t feel himself growing hard from it. Disgusted with himself at his lack of control, he shoved Yondu once more and started making his way down the hallway. He couldn’t afford feeling like that towards his captain anymore, needed to rein it the hell in real quick, because he didn’t think he could handle another rejection.

He heard the door whoosh open and closed behind them and turned slightly to see Kraglin stumble into the hallway, bloody and grinning. If he noticed the tension between them he didn’t comment, just nodded at Yondu and made his way down the hallway to Peter. Yondu didn’t say another word, just pushed himself off of the wall and brushed off his jacket before falling into step with them.

They didn’t have to go far before they found their target. They rounded the corner to find themselves in the hangar and there he was, the fucking coward, starting up one of the M-ships and prepping to make a hasty escape. Peter hastily pulled his rifle out of its holster and aimed it at one of the engines. The blast hit at the same time Yondu’s arrow hit the other engine and the ship dropped the short distance to the ground.

Talon had no choice but to exit the ship as it went up in glorious flames, and as he scampered down the ramp, blaster in hand, he was met with Kraglin, Yondu, and Peter. A sharp whistle and there was an arrow at his throat.

“Oh, hey turd blossom! Long time no see, huh?” Peter quipped, aiming both his blaster and his rifle at Talon’s face.

There was just a moment where Talon looked like he was going to try and fight his way through them, arrow and all, like he genuinely thought there was a chance that he’d escape. Then he saw sense and sighed before dropping his blaster to the ground with a clatter.

Peter had honestly expected Yondu to just run him through, but apparently Talon deserved more than that. He was on the ground in seconds, Yondu’s weight on his chest pinning him to the ground as a fist connected with his face over, and over, and over. Yondu was panting and snarling, and Peter and Kraglin exchanged a meaningful look but ultimately let him do as he pleased.

When he’d finally had his fill, Yondu spit right on Talon’s bloodied face and pulled himself to his feet. He cracked his neck and rolled his broad shoulders before kicking his victim once in the ribs and making his way back over to the others.

“There, Quill,” he said, nodding his head in the surprisingly still alive man’s direction. “Your turn.”

Peter hid his shock at the offer and stomped over to his former captor. He cocked his head to the side and knelt down with his blaster to a purple temple, but didn’t pull the trigger. Instead he just stared, for a moment, committing that bloody face to memory, savoring the fact that the man who had taken everything from him was sitting there suffering, about to die at his hands.

Talon spit out a mouthful of blood and, unbelievably, grinned through his chipped bloody teeth and already swollen lips. “What’s the matter, Star Princess? Lost your nerve?”

Peter snorted, refusing to rise to the bait. “Nah, I’m just wishing I had a camera so I could get a picture of this beautiful moment.”

Talon laughed, head dropping back to the ground. “Oh, poor ignorant Peter.”

Peter tensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Talon lowered his voice so that the others couldn’t hear. “It’s just so sad, really, that you’ve taken up with one of the people responsible for ruining your life.”

Peter snarled and pressed the barrel of his gun harder into Talon’s skull and Talon chuckled once more. “Oh, it’s not your fault. You had no idea. Udonta is a masterful liar.”

Yondu? What the fuck did Yondu have to do with this? “You better tell me what the fuck you’re talking about right now, man, I swear to God!”

Talon closed his eyes and sighed. “Oh, Peter. Do you remember how I told you that I sent someone to steal your ship, to make sure that you never came back from Oorga?”

Peter’s heart sank, but he refused to believe it. He would not. Yondu wouldn’t – he _couldn’t._ They may have a fucked up relationship now, but he knew deep down Yondu had always cared for him, right?

“Bullshit,” he sneered.

“If you really thought it wasn’t true you would have killed me by now,” Talon laughed. “It’s true. I got in touch with Udonta and sent him after you. It was a good deal for him. He was the one Stakar saved you from when you were a child, did you know? Yes, and I had given him the opportunity to sell you off like he had originally planned to. It was a win-win situation.”

He paused, frowning. “Then, to my utter surprise, he _kept_ you. You can’t imagine my shock when I saw the two of you on Contraxia. Were you fucking? Is that why he kept you? As his little plaything?”

Blood was rushing through Peter’s ears and his head was spinning because, honestly, so many things were clicking into place.

 Yondu, and the way he looked at Peter like he’d seen a ghost when he first saw him at the tender age of fourteen.

The weird coincidence that Yondu had shown up at the same heist as him when he was eighteen, alone.

How Peter’s ship had disappeared off of a remote moon with literally no one else on it.

 The look of recognition on Talon’s face when he’d seen Yondu, the way he had taken out revenge in a way that had seemed so extreme to Peter at the time.

The way Kraglin got shifty and weird when it came to certain topics.

A hundred little things over the years were ticking through his mind, falling into place and oh, God, he was going to throw up. He forgot Talon for a moment, could think of nothing but the bitter betrayal burning through his chest, and stood to storm over to his captain.

When he’d gotten close enough he grasped the chest of his leather vest and yanked him forcefully forward, ignoring his shock. “Is it true?” he hissed.

Yondu looked angry and confused, and Peter couldn’t blame him. “Is _what_ true. You lost your head Quill? What – “

There wasn’t room for anything in Peter’s mind but blinding rage because, even though he was asking, he knew it was true. He knew that Talon wasn’t lying. “Is what he said fucking true? Were you going to sell me off as a kid? Was it you who caused Stakar to take me from my home? Was it you who helped take me from my home _again_ back there on Oorga? _WAS IT YOU?”_

Yondu gaped at him, but his lack of an answer was all Peter needed. Without thinking about it he pulled back his fist and landed one brutal punch to Yondu’s jaw, snapping the other man’s head back and sending him reeling. Yondu may have been shocked, but he was never one to take a punch lying down. He lurched forward and landed his own punch to Peter’s face and Peter was off. He launched himself at his captain and they fell to the ground, rolling, punching, kicking and snarling. Kraglin tried to pull them apart once and earned himself a bloody nose for his effort.

Yondu was still stronger than Peter, and so Peter found himself pinned to the ground by his captain, both bloody and angry and panting. He tried to shove the man off to no result and Yondu slapped him once on the face for his efforts.

“It’s true,” Peter whispered, the fight leaving him to make room for a slowly shattering heart.

“Yeah, Quill, it’s fucking true, alright? All of it. Everything he said. I was hired to pick you up when you were just a kid. Stakar got to you first, and when I found that out I spent _years_ tryna track you down. That’s how I met Talon. He set up your mission on Oorga and I was there the whole time. I stole your ship. I was gonna take you and finally get my payday.”

Peter had heard enough. He could tell that Yondu had more to say, could tell that he was upset, but he just didn’t fucking care. He raised his blaster to Yondu’s temple. “Shut up.” He shoved until the other man reluctantly stood up. Peter pulled himself wearily to his feet, and then just… left. He had no more room for revenge, didn’t care whether Talon lived or died. His world was spinning around him making him dizzy, everything he’d thought he’d known wrong, wrong, wrong.

\----

 

Yondu and Kraglin had forgotten about Talon, and didn’t see him get into another ship, didn’t notice he was leaving until the ship came to life and started blasting out the hangar door. Yondu tried to whistle his arrow through the engine again, but it missed.

It actually _missed_.

Yondu had never, _ever_ missed a target before.  

Kraglin gazed at him knowingly, the only person in the galaxy who knew that Yondu controlled his arrow with his _heart_ and not his head, and clapped him on the shoulder. They watched as the ship flew away, as Peter walked out the other side of the room, his broad shoulders slumped in hurt and betrayal and anger.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we go! Have some more heartache T_T


	12. Six Gun Quota

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this took SO LONG because I've never written from Yondu's perspective. Holy shit. It was HARD. Also, it's late and this is, as usual, unbeta'd so forgive any mistakes!   
> Yondu's chapters are going to have more modern song names. Coincidentally, Six Gun Quota by Seether is what I've been imagining Yondu's theme song is haha.   
> Anyway, enjoy! As usual, thanks for the amazing supportive reviews! You keep me going!

Peter paced, back and forth, back and forth, boots clanking on metal floors, heartbeat thrumming through his ears and he _hurt._ The ache in his chest was all-consuming, Yondu’s admission ringing in his mind over, and over, and over until he thought he was going to scream. He was still reeling from the revelation, still dizzy and wanting to deny it, but the evidence was right there in his face; years of it, all stacked around in his mind for him to see and what had he been _thinking?_

“Stupid,” he hissed, tugging on a lock of his hair.

He’d been so fucking _stupid_ , wasted _eight years_ of his life following after the man who had taken everything from him, twice, like a lovesick little puppy. He’d _known_ who Yondu was, known how he’d betrayed the Ravagers and Stakar, so how could he have been so goddamn ignorant to think that he had, what? Changed? _What had he been thinking?_

Peter kicked at the wall, a wordless shout of frustration ripping from his chest when it did nothing more than send a shooting pain up his leg. He needed to do something, break something, hurt someone, because if he didn’t he felt like he was going to explode from anger and betrayal. He whirled around, searching for something to take his frustration out on, and his eyes landed Yondu’s collection, all the cute little figurines lined up in a row on the captain’s console.

He strode over and snatched the first one up, a little green plastic tripod creature. His hesitation only lasted so long as it took his brain to supply him with another instance in which he should have seen through Yondu. The toy whizzed through the air and smashed against a window, falling to the floor with a dull little clunk and Peter felt completely unsatisfied.

The next figurine, though, was glass and the sound it made as it shattered into a million tiny pieces against the wall filled him with a deep sense of gratification. He picked up a ceramic purple frog-type creature with giant eyes and hurled it away so that it could join its brethren, and then another and another, all down the line until there were only four left standing. When his hand closed around the little pink glass sloth he stilled, and in his stillness he realized that his cheeks were wet with fat tears and he was trembling from the force of his deep-seeded anger.

He took a long, shuddering breath and held the stupid little figurine to his chest, his destructive need dissipating in an instant. Try as he might to forget it, his love for Yondu was still there, buried in his heart like a little festering wound. The rawness of Yondu’s rejection joined in with the feeling of betrayal, swirling around inside and threatening to consume him and he clenched his hand around the little sloth until it left imprints in his palm. He had every intention to send it careening off to join the others, every intention of getting rid of this reminder of how long he’d been pining for someone who he could never have, but when it came down to it he slipped it into his pocket instead.

He remembered, then, the job he and Yondu had been looking at, the one from the Broker that promised a truly obscene payday. He thought about the way Yondu had grinned at him over the job report, thought about how his heart had thudded in his chest and how his first thought had been how much he loved it when the Centaurian got that wicked gleam in his eye; he knew what he was going to do then.

“Morag, huh?” he said to the empty room. “This should be fun.”

\----

Yondu stormed onto the ship, the dark scowl on his face a clear warning to the crew to back the fuck away. He was going to give that infuriating boy a piece of his mind. How _dare_ he threaten his captain? How _dare_ he ignore a direct order, lose his head and attack him like that? If he hadn’t been so goddamn emotional Yondu would have killed that piece of shit Achernonian ten ways from Sunday by now, but _no_ , his stupid Terran couldn’t see past his _sentiment_ long enough to get the goddamn job done.

_His_ Terran.

He had no idea when he’d started referring to Peter as _his,_ but somewhere along the way it had just slipped in there, deep and unassuming like the title had always belonged. At first he’d felt like Peter was one of his possessions, like the cute little buggers he collected and lined up along his console.

 He remembered with vivid detail when he’s first decided he’d wanted the boy, first decided he wanted him beneath him writhing and moaning real pretty. Pressed up against that tree on A-Chitar III after the most fucked up retrieval job he’d ever been on, thinking they’d lost their mark, frustrated beyond belief. Then there he was, shit-eating grin stretching over his dirty face, holding up the little critter like it was no big deal that he’d saved Kraglin, Yondu, and their objective and torn his damn arm right out of its socket in the process. Yondu remembered the feeling of fire in his veins, remembered feeling like if he didn’t get all that power underneath him soon he was going to burst.

It’d been a mistake to fuck him, a mistake to give in to his desire. Shoulda just taken someone else, someone familiar, fucked anyone and everyone until he got the boy out of his system. He’d known it was going to be a mistake, but he’d only planned to take the one taste. When that opportunity was taken from him, when Talon of all people showed up and did what he did to him and that noble idiot had gone and gotten himself taken he’d had no thought other than _get him back. Mine, mine, mine._

He’d never expected to see him again, had been rash and impulsive and selfless in a way he’d never experienced before when he pushed his boy out that airlock and watched him float off into space. Resigned to his fate, he almost didn’t believe his eyes when Peter came crashing in a month later, dripping blood like some sort of avenging angel.

Stupid sentimental Terran.

 He’d never wanted anyone more than he had in that moment. Once hadn’t been enough. Twice, either, or three times, or four. He’d never stuck with the same partner so long, never felt the need to keep coming back for more because once you’ve had someone, you’ve had them, right? No different the next time, except with Peter it was. Each and every time was hot and filthy and exciting and he’d felt sometimes like he was going to drown in that body, in those eyes.

Thinking about that big hot body squirming beneath him, clenching and moaning in the most delicious way, had Yondu growing hard even in his anger. Maybe that’s how he’d teach the boy a lesson. Maybe he’d bend him over his chair and take him real nice. Slide into that hot heat and –

Yondu halted those thoughts, shaking his head in frustration at the direction they’d taken. He couldn’t sleep with the idiot anymore, not after what he’d said the night before, not after he’d let his _feelings_ come into play, and certainly not after he’d had the nerve to treat Yondu like a punching bag. He’d spoiled him, clearly, been too soft on him, been too tempted by that ass and those hips and that face.

Never mind that Yondu had been feeling a niggling guilt at the back of his mind for years over his part in Peter’s life, never mind that he’d wanted to tell him so many times, wanted to make him understand. It didn’t matter. There was no excuse for such insubordination.

Right?

\---

At first he didn’t register what had happened on the bridge, didn’t see the mess, too wrapped up in his musings. He did, however, notice when his boots started crunching on the shattered glass. His little figurines were _everywhere_ , the unbreakable ones tossed about, the breakable ones scattered in a million pieces, light splintering off of them from the slowly rising sun shining through the ship’s window.

Kraglin walked into the room behind him, stopping with a jolt when he saw the scene before them. His first mate whistled, low and awed. “Holy hell.”

Yondu clenched his fists, implant lighting up the dim room. “I’m gonna kill ‘im!”

He spun sharply on his heel, grinding his teeth, to go in search of that fucking maddening, insolent, ( _beautiful_ ) shit. He planned all sorts of punishments for him as he scoured the ship, Kraglin at his heels. Maybe he’d have him flogged.

Maybe he’d take the _Milano_ from him.

Maybe he’d tie him up and fuck him dry, hard and fast and dirty and _punishing_.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, but maybes turned out not to matter because no matter how hard he looked he didn’t see hide nor tail of his boy. He was seething by the time he stepped into the hangar, expecting to finally find him, working on his ship or listening to that idiotic music box of his, wide shoulder’s slumped like they did when he was upset.

It never once occurred to him that he might not find Peter, that his Terran might have left, might have had enough, been pushed too far. When he scanned the room for the third time and realized what was missing, his heart sank. The _Milano_ was gone. It was gone, and if it was gone then that meant that Peter was gone too, that infuriating, stubborn, larger than life Peter had up and _left._

Yondu let out a deep breath, shaky, though he’d never in a million years admit to it.

“He’ll be back, boss,” Kraglin supplied, reaching out as if to clasp his shoulder and then wisely deciding against it at the last second. “You know Quill, he’s just… angry.”

Yondu rolled his neck and shoulders, shaking off his shock with a physical effort. “Don’t matter none. He wants to leave, he can _git._ ”

He took one more look around the room, as if there were any possibility that he’d missed something, as if on his fourth or fifth pass of the hangar he’d see that big idiot slumping around somewhere. When his search again yielded no results he spun around and marched back to his quarters, slouching down on his bed, angry, so angry, but underneath that under a layer of steel he’d never remove was a little dose of _hurt,_ and _fear,_ and _regret._

If he fell asleep with his face buried in the fur blanket he’d fucked Quill on the night before, well, no one had to know that.

\-----

Yondu was in a foul mood the next day, slumped in his chair perusing their potential job offers with a dark scowl permanently etched onto his face. As he was scrolling through the job list he came across the one on Morag, the one he and Quill had been talking about taking together. He clicked his tongue once in thought and then flicked off the screen.

“Kraglin! Order the men back to the ship. They got four hours before we head out with or without em.”

Kraglin sent out the order without question before coming to stand at his captain’s side. “We… er… we goin after Quill, Cap?”

Yondu sneered at his first mate, taking grim satisfaction in the fact that the gesture made the other man take a small step back. “Hell no we ain’t goin after him. We got ourselves a job on some planet called Morag. Gotta get some kinda orb for the Broker.”

Kraglin opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced when his captain turned to him again with one brow arched, daring him to say something, daring him to give him a reason to fight. Instead of speaking, Kraglin wisely nodded his head and went back to his post to plot out their course.

Yondu hadn’t slept much, was tired and angry and couldn’t keep his fool mind quiet. He stood and tossed his holopad onto the chair before storming out of the room. He flopped onto his bed five minutes later with a deep sigh, rubbing roughly at one of his eyes in frustration. He had _rules_ , and he had them for a _reason._ He’d broken so many of them with Peter it was laughable, but the one that was killing him currently was the ‘no fucking in his bedroom’ rule.

He couldn’t stop seeing it, seeing his boy laid out real pretty on his furs, legs spread, filthy mouth mumbling obscenities at him, begging, writhing and moaning. Yondu groaned as he felt himself hardening in his pants, tried to stop picturing it, tried to think of _anything_ else.

_“Baby…” Peter had groaned, thick liquor scented breath ghosting over Yondu’s lips._

Yondu’s breath hitched and his hand, as if of its own accord, stroked one of his nipples through his shirt.

_“Fuck, Yondu, baby, want you so bad,” Peter panted, hips stuttering as Yondu flattened his tongue against his hole and licked, sloppy with drool, grasping himself through his pants to stave off his raging arousal._

Resigning himself to his fate, Yondu slipped off his jacket and shirt before lying back on the bed and running his nails down his chest and stomach, already panting, just a little. He hadn’t known until the word spilled from Peter’s sweet pink lips, would have killed any other man who tried to say it, that he liked being called _baby._

_Peter’s fists were clenched in the sheets and Yondu had to use one hand to still his jerking hips, drinking in the wordless moans as he brought up a lube-slicked finger to join his tongue._

His own hips jerked as he remembered the way Peter had lain before him, knees to his chest, thighs spread. He slipped his hand beneath the waistband of his pants, moaning lowly as he took his length in hand. He was already leaking, a little drop of pre-cum seeping from his slit, and wasn’t that just fucking pathetic, so hot for a memory that he was leaking without a touch?

_Peter was so drunk, but even in his inebriation he was impatient, always eager, always wanting more. Now. Yondu grunted as his boy stopped his ministrations and pawed blindly at his face until he could grasp him by the jaw and pull him up. The captain complied, crawling up Peter’s body, his thick waist spreading Peter’s beautifully flexible thighs as wide as they’d go._

He pulled his aching cock free from the confines of his pants and gave himself a hard stroke, twisting just that little bit on the way back up.

_The kiss was hot, teeth clashing, and Peter’s tongue tasted like stale alcohol. Yondu lapped it up, rubbing himself almost lazily against Peter’s length, relishing the way he squirmed and panted and clawed at his back._

His other hand wandered down to roll his balls between his fingers, one digit slipping down to rub at his perineum. 

_He slid into Peter’s impossible heat, hips jerking forward once in his eagerness, arms straining to hold him up because he wanted it_ so much. _Peter keened under him, reaching up to lick a stripe down his throat with that wicked tongue and Yondu rolled his hips._

He was pulling faster now, finesse forgotten, hips thrusting up of their own accord into his lube-slicked fist and, fuck, he shouldn’t be doing this. He was supposed to be _angry_ , was supposed to be thinking about punishing Peter, but all he could think of as his length slid in and out of the tight circle of his fingers was how much he wanted to spread his Terran out on his furs again.

_“I love you…” Peter whispered, eyes screwed shut, and Yondu knew he hadn’t meant to say it out loud but the shock of it was like a slap to the face._

One more thrust of his hips and Yondu was coming, thick hot ropes splashing onto his chest. He laid there, panting, sweat dripping down his temples and sighed.

He was so incredibly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?? Was Yondu too OOC? He's a difficult man to write, let me tell ya!


	13. What I've Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Guys! I'm so excited to post this chapter!

_ Peter _

Peter rolled the Orb between his hands, sipping on his coffee in bed and watching the girl whose name he’d forgotten _again_ stroll around his room in her tight little underwear and one of his old t-shirts. Shit, what _was_ her name? Borat? Beet? Baloot?

Hell, he couldn’t remember.

All he cared about was the fact that she was soft, and pliant, and not at all close to cerulean in color. He frowned, irritated that even when he was thinking about someone else his thoughts rolled back around to Yondu.

He should probably feel satisfied that he’d gotten to the Orb before his former captain, should probably feel a little thrill that he’d gotten a sort of small petty revenge. He was on his way to one incredible payday and that thought would usually have him feeling giddy with excitement. Instead, he was just… angry.

It just hadn’t helped.  

He could still feel the deep ache of betrayal and rejection in his chest, pulling, pulling at him every which way until he felt like he was going to be torn apart from it. Because it had occurred to him later, as he was flying farther and farther from the _Eclector_ , that it hadn’t just been Yondu who had betrayed him. He and Kraglin clearly didn’t have to same type of relationship as he and Yondu did, but Peter had always thought that they were like brothers at the very least. They picked on each other, sure, but over the years they’d gone through so much together that he’d thought they were close, that they were family. Kraglin had _known,_ though, Peter knew he had. Even if Peter hadn’t been coming up with a million and one times when Kraglin had acted cagey when his past was mentioned, the look of horror on his face when Peter had confronted Yondu, the look that contained no shock, was a dead giveaway.

So, there he went again, losing his family for the third time in his relatively short life, and he wondered if maybe he just wasn’t meant to have anyone in that role. Star Lord, legendary outlaw, completely fucking alone.

He sighed and tossed the Orb onto the bed, making his way up behind the girl and wrapping his almost-too-large hands around her hips. She fell back into him with a quiet breathy sigh, and if he maybe felt like it wasn’t gruff enough, was too smooth, not at all raspy; well, that was easy to ignore as he bent her over his desk and pulled off her unbelievably small panties, entering her in one smooth glide. She felt almost breakable under his hand as he pushed down between her shoulder blades to get a better angle, and that wasn’t _fair_ because he’d fucked so many different types of people in his life and it had never mattered before. His thrusts increased in urgency as he set out to prove that he hadn’t been ruined for everyone else by the man who had taken everything from him.

Later, when he’d used the girl ( _“Bereet,”_ she’d hissed at him when he’d stumbled over her name in the heat of the moment) until they were both exhausted, he was perusing the news stations, checking messages. Bereet was sitting at the table, in her little undies and his shirt once more, sipping groggily at a cup of coffee and staring off into space.

He heard the tell-tale _beep, beep, beep_ of an incoming message, but didn’t really consider the fact that there was someone else on his ship who might open it.

“Peter? You have call,” Bereet said, and when Peter turned to see who it was coming from his heart stopped.

“No, wait, don’t – “ he whispered urgently, lunging forward to stop her.

Too late.

The news feed flickered out and he closed his eyes, dreading the voice he knew was about to come over the speakers.

“Quill!” Yondu barked.

Peter rolled his eyes heavenward, asking whatever the fuck deity was out there for the patience to get through this conversation without breaking something. He was entirely unprepared for the feeling of _want_ that still washed over him when he slowly turned to see Yondu’s angry face on the screen. That was a whole fuck-ton of confusing; the anger, betrayal, rejection and all of the other terrible feelings all suffused with a heavy dose of need and grudging affection.

He sighed, going for nonchalant and failing miserably. “Hey, Yondu.”

Yondu looked like he was restraining his temper with a truly admirable effort, lips pressed into a thin line, implant barely flickering with his emotions. “I’m here on _Morag._ Ain’t no Orb, ain’t no _you!_ ”

Peter clenched his fists at his sides, willing down his churning emotions and shuttering his gaze. “Funny story, I was in the neighborhood, you know, considering my fucked up life choices. Thought I’d save you the hassle while I was there.”

“Where you at now, boy?” Yondu rasped, and hearing _boy_ spill out of those lips left a bitter taste in Peter’s mouth.

“ _Don’t_ call me that, Udonta. Don’t you dare – “ he cut himself off with a shaky exhalation.

“I – “ Yondu started, stopping himself when his eyes darted behind Peter and he saw Bereet sitting there, half naked and clearly freshly fucked. He narrowed his eyes, lip raising in a snarl, and Peter shivered.

“Who. The fuck. Is that?” Yondu seethed, and Peter could hear the uncomfortable shuffling of someone else’s boots in the background. He knew Kraglin was standing off screen, watching their exchange with trepidation.

Peter plastered on a cocky smirk. “Who, Bereet? She’s my new girlfriend, you know? You should hear the noises she makes. It’s a thing of beauty, really, so _responsive._ ”

Yondu was grinding his teeth, and Peter knew he was trying to keep face in front of his men. He took a fierce satisfaction in Yondu’s obvious jealousy, in the possessive gleam in his eye. Good. He fucking deserved to feel that way, deserved to feel like he’d lost Peter (he had lost him, right?), deserved to hurt in some way as retribution for all that he’d done. The fucked up part was that if Peter hadn’t found out about Yondu’s roll in his life he probably would have come crawling back to him, begging to have any part of him he could, promising that his drunken admission was a result of alcohol and not any real emotion.

“ _Boy,_ you’re playin’ some typa game here and I ain’t gonna play along, you hear me? You better ditch that whore and get your ass back here with that Orb or – “

Peter seethed. How _dare_ he stand there and order Peter around after what he'd done? “Shut _up_ , Yondu! God! _I’m_ playing games? Are you fucking serious? You’ve been playing me my whole damn life, been pushing me along like a goddamn chess piece! Was it _funny_ to you, when you fucked me? You and Kraglin have a good fucking laugh at the stupid Terran boy whose life you’d ruined more than once?” Frustrated tears pricked at his eyes and he scrubbed them away, angrier at the emotions he couldn’t seem to fucking contain.

\------

_ Yondu _

Yondu was fuming, hot and angry and, _fine,_ jealous. His boy was off fucking some Krylorian chit, and the thought of it made him physically ill. He wanted nothing more than to bend him over and stake his claim, to remind Peter that he was _his, his, his._ That, or flog him to within an inch of his life for daring to steal from him, run from him, _give himself to anyone else_ while Yondu was – what?

What was he?

Possessive?

Peter was like one of his smashed figurines, after all, his possession, _his._ That was it, right? That was the reason for the black feeling of jealousy pulsing through his veins, the thudding of his heart, the pounding in his chest? 

He adamantly pushed off the looming feeling of guilt when Peter started ranting about what Yondu had done to him. They were _Ravagers_. Stealing and cheating and lying; those were par for the course, the meat of the trade. He'd been looking out for no one but himself his entire life, and he refused to feel  _guilty_ because doing that had hurt someone that he lo - cared fo - fucked.

Fucked, that was all they'd done, all Peter meant to him outside of being crew.

That was  _it,_ dammit.

Peter had been a great crew member in spite of his blatant insubordination and frustrating mischievous antics, had been a more than satisfying bed partner, but that was  _all._ So he felt the treachery of Quill's actions a little deeper than he had when past crew had screwed him over, so maybe he felt it in his very core, the sense of betrayal, of hurt, of grief that he was going to have to kill another crew member for daring to cross him. Quill had not only been one of his best, his most loyal, but the payday he'd taken from them was one of the biggest the Udonta clan had seen in years. It was only fitting that he'd be feeling it a little deeper, right?

He was wearing his best 'I am the captain and you are in big trouble' expression, arms crossed in steely determination to remain unaffected by the other man's display of Terran _emotions._ Still, when the angry tears started leaking from his Terran’s eyes he couldn’t help a little _pang_ in his chest. It made him angrier, those emotions that Peter seemed to be able to rip out of him with just a smirk, or a swing of his hips, or a hint of moisture in his eyes.

“What were you waiting for, huh? Why didn’t you sell me off when you had the chance? Were you just waiting until you’d gotten tired of me? Waiting until you’d used me until there wasn’t anything fucking _left_ before you – “

“ _Enough!”_ Yondu hissed, irate and confused and unable to cope with all of the things at once. He was set to rip Peter a new one, to threaten him, cajole him until he agreed to come back, was all riled up with righteous indignation until one big, fat tear rolled down that stubbled cheek. He sighed, felt himself softening, uncontrollably and unexpectedly, and wasn't that just like his godsdamned life lately? Spiraling slowly and steadily out of his control, tearing apart his iron grip on his _feelings_ , on his self-possession, on everything he'd spent his whole life building around himself. With a put-upon sigh he jerked his head to motion his men out of hearing range.

When everyone but Kraglin was a safe distance away (his first mate already _knew_ , probably more than he let on, might as well let him hear) he softened his expression with a herculean effort. “Petey, you just… if you’d just come back to me, let me _explain…”_

Peter angrily wiped the escaped tear away and crossed his arms, legs spread in defiance. “Explain _what,_ Yondu? What could you possibly say to me to make this better?”

Yondu did not _do_ this, he didn’t _do_ soft and emotional and he certainly didn’t do repentant. There was a slowly creeping feeling coming over him though, a deep terrifying sense of loss and he _knew_ that if Peter left him for good it was going to kill him. He refused to examine _why,_ but was becoming able to acknowledge that the feeling was there. He did not like this, did not like the fact that there was someone out there who had this much control over the emotions he’d spent his entire life squashing down into nothingness.

“You – I – UGH! Boy, we are _Ravagers!_ We do not _do this_ to each other. We got a _code!”_ It wasn't what he'd intended to say. He'd intended to at least  _try_ to be calm and convincing, to give Peter some sign that Yondu felt a little bad about his role in his life. He couldn’t, in the end, just could not bring himself to be vulnerable, not even with his boy.

The tears that had been fighting for escape from Peter's eyes dried, suddenly. His gaze was hard, his mouth turned down at the corners in anger. “You’re one to fucking talk about the _code_ , Yondu! _I’m_ the reason Stakar exiled you, right? Because you were selling _children?_ Don’t go spouting off about honor among thieves with me." He leaned close to the screen, upper lip raised in a sneer. " _I know you._ ”

Peter reached up to click off the connection and Yondu jerked forward, suddenly panicked, the motion halting the Terran briefly. Again, the wrong words spilled from his lips. “Boy, I _saved you._ You have no idea! You’re alive coz of me, and you are _mine!_ I will find you, and I will – “

_Click._

The connection went dead and Yondu let out a wordless frustrated shout, wiping the display out and turning to stomp over to Kraglin. His first looked about as guilty as Yondu secretly felt, sad, and he'd always been more open with his feelings than Yondu but seeing how he was feeling reflected back at him made Yondu angrier. At his first mate’s pitying look he snarled and snatched up his scrawny arm, pulling him close with a bruising force and sneering in anger. “ _Put a bounty on him!_ Forty K, but I want that boy back _alive,_ you hear me?”

“Yes, Cap’n,” Kraglin complied, pulling out of Yondu’s grasp to get the bounty up ASAP. 

“Alive?” Horuz yelped, clearly perplexed.

Yondu stomped past him, thoughts elsewhere. “That’s what I said!”

“I _told you_ when we picked that little shit up that we shoulda sold him like we was supposed to in the first place! He was _cargo_. You couldn’t see past your dick long enough to remember that. You’ve _always_ been soft on him!”

He’d had enough. No one spoke about his boy like that, and no one fucking spoke to _him_ like that (he ignored the niggling voice in the back of his head that told him Peter had always done it). He spun around and shoved Horuz’s chest, hard. “ _You’re the only one I’m being soft on!”_

He pulled his coat back and his arrow lit up threateningly at his hip. He may have been having trouble controlling it since Peter left, but he was sure as hell close enough to Horuz to manage right now. Honestly he was just fucking itching to start something, kill something, beat something (fuck someone). “Don’t you worry about mister Quill. Soon as we get him back here, I’m gonna kill him myself.

_Liar, liar, liar_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully.

“What we _do_ need to worry about is who else out there wants that Orb. We’s gonna pay my good friend the Broker a quick little visit.”

Horuz eyed him, clearly terrified, and Yondu lowered his jacket and turned back around to make his way to his ship. He needed something to do before he did something real stupid, like drop everything to track down his wayward Terran and bring him back under his thumb by force if necessary.

\-----

_ Stakar _

Hurried, frantic footsteps echoed down the hall and Stakar looked up from the blaster he was cleaning with an arched brow. He wondered idly if something was wrong, if someone was attacking them, and his shoulders bunched in anticipation as Crux came careening into the room. He was so impatient that he squeezed through the door before it had fully slid open, panting and holding a holopad tightly to his chest.

“Where’s the fire, Crux?” Stakar asked as his first made skidded to a halt beside his chair. He looked harried, anxiety swimming in his eyes.

“Stakar, sir, there’s something you need to see!” he panted, thrusting his holopad in Stakar’s direction and leaning wearily on the man’s chair.

Stakar took the pad from him, perplexed when he saw a somewhat familiar mug shot on the screen. He wasn’t sure what took him so long to recognize who it was, to see the name flashing on the screen under the giant “40k” price tag. Shock, probably. Denial, maybe, because that was _Peter_ , older and larger, but still that cocksure little smirk, those mischievously glinting eyes. His heart clenched in his chest and he was sure as hell glad there was no one on the bridge but Crux to witness the open, vulnerable look on his face as he stared at the son he’d thought was long dead.

“He – Peter’s _alive?_ ” he asked, looking up at his first mate, unable to process any other thought.

“ _Yes_ , he’s alive, sir, and take a look at who put the bounty on him.”

Stakar glanced down at the bounty sheet again, gaze lingering on the man his boy had grown in to for just a moment, before he zeroed in on the other name on the sheet.

“ _Yondu?”_ he seethed, mind coming up with so many possibilities as to why his former crew member would want his son (his _son,_ fuck, he _was_ his son and he’d wasted so much time keeping him at a distance that he felt it like a physical ache now). None of the scenarios he could come up with were comforting.

He shook off the lingering sense of shock, determination steeling his nerves, and handed the pad back to Crux. The ship-wide announcement channel clicked on with a flick of his finger, his stern face popping up on every display. “Boys, new plan. I want every single one of you out of here within the hour. You’re to head off towards the coordinates Crux is going to send to you and look for Yondu Udonta. You remember him, right? I want him found, and I want him brought to me _alive_ within two weeks, do you understand?”

A chorus of sharp affirmatives rang out through the channel and, satisfied, Stakar clicked off his broadcast and turned towards the stars. “Send every man in a different direction, but I want two each on Contraxia, Xandar, and Terra. Send out a picture of Yondu, too, just in case. I want him found, and I want it to happen _now,_ Crux, you hear me?”

Crux nodded jerkily, and Stakar was gratified to see the anticipation on his face, too. All of his bridge crew had been torn apart when they’d thought they’d lost Peter, all of them mourning the loss of the quirky little Terran they’d all had a hand in raising. He was pleased that they would be throwing themselves into the search as hard as he was, pleased to have Crux and the others supporting him at his side.

“Sir?” Crux asked, suddenly hesitant. Stakar waved him on. “It just occurred to me… When Peter went missing, it was -  wasn’t it _Talon_ who had assured you he was dead? Didn’t Talon find the mission in the first place, bring it to you?”

Stakar grit his teeth, yellow straps buzzing to life on his shoulders, because, yes, that _had_ been Talon. It had been _Talon_ who found the job, Talon who handled the specifics, who got in touch with their informant on Oorga, who suggested that he send Peter as a test of his readiness for solo missions.

“Put a goddamn bounty on that motherfucker’s head, Crux,” he seethed, anger saturating his words. He clenched his fists on top of the chair arms until he felt them tingle with lack of blood flow. “Eighty-thousand units, and I want him _alive._ One hair on that jackass gets harmed, one little scratch delivered by anyone but me and I swear there will be hell to pay. Get him to me.”

“Gladly, sir,” Crux, who had _never_ liked Talon, snipped, savage little grin on his face.

When the doors had _whooshed_ shut behind his first Stakar sat in silence for a moment, staring out at the stars and trying to process his rapid shift in worldview. _Eight years_ he’d been dealing with the loss of Peter, _eight years_ wondering what he’d done wrong, going over every moment in the boy’s upbringing over and over until his head spun, wondering if it was his fault for not preparing him well enough. He pulled up the mug shot again, examining the face that was so different but so familiar and he felt his heart ache deep in his chest.

He stood with a sigh and left the bridge, needing privacy, needing to be alone to process because the last thing he needed was for his crew to walk in and find him an emotional wreck over Peter again. When the door to his room shut and he’d engaged the locks he dropped the holopad on the desk and made his way over to his chest of drawers. The top one had been locked for eight years, but it still snicked open without a hitch when he turned the key in it.

Inside was a fur blanket, dyed Ravager red. He picked it up, careful not to drop the items wrapped inside of it and brought it over to place on his lap as he sat on the edge of his bed. With a steady hand he peeled back the corners of the fur to reveal a little pile of mismatched items, useless and perplexing to everyone else but to him they represented what he could privately admit after twenty years was his life’s greatest work.

A toy space ship, a set of little gloves, a sloppily hand-made dagger from when Peter was fifteen, maybe, and had been dead convinced he was going to be the ship’s blacksmith, and an old tattered t-shirt that was wrapped around another item. Inside the shirt rested a little rectangular box, colorfully wrapped with a blue ribbon tied tightly around it, and an unopened card. He’d never been able to bring himself to open it, never been able to bring himself to get rid of it either, the unopened gift Peter had kept from his deceased mother. It was sentimental and stupid, and no one but Martinex knew he still had the items all these years later.

His mind flashed to the first weeks after Peter had “died,” to the anger, and the grief, and the black sense of despair that had ravaged him day and night.

_He’d nearly lost his command, back then, had been so fucked up from his loss that he’d spent days holed up in his room, raging and drinking and breaking anything he could get his hands on. He was eternally grateful to Martinex, the only one brave enough to break into his quarters and knock some sense into him._

_He remembered fighting him, remembered a diamond-strong fist connecting with his jaw, remembered being eventually pinned to the floor, bloody and angry and crying, big fat ugly tears. At the time he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but he’d been too consumed with grief to care that someone was witnessing it._

_“I know, Stakar, I know,” Martinex whispered soothingly, soft and calm in a way few ever got the chance to see from him. “We all feel Peter’s loss. I know. It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”_

_Stakar, inebriated as he had been for Thanos knew how long, felt the anger and pride drain out of him and he just… let himself feel. Shame washed over him as his tears renewed, but quickly made way for other emotions like grief, like self-doubt, like an overwhelming and pervasive sense of_ regret. _Grief for the loss of such a bright life, self-doubt because_ what had he done wrong? _Had he prepared Peter well enough? He’d thought he was ready, but was that just his own pride getting in the way? Was it his fault he was dead?_

_Regret._

_So much regret, because he’d wasted so many years keeping Peter at a distance, wasted so much time denying what they all knew, wasted_ so much time _denying that Peter was more than the plucky kid they’d all had a hand in raising. He should have let Peter call him dad, shouldn’t have been so quick to squash that out of him because now that he was gone Stakar knew that Peter had always been his son, had always been the only person in the world he’d lose everything for. He knew now that the man Peter had barely had a chance to be had been his life’s greatest accomplishment, the one good thing he’d done in a life of bad deeds._

_Martinex had let him cry it out until there was nothing left, patient and calm and understanding, and Stakar would be forever grateful to him for that. When the tears had finally dried, when he was left lying on the floor, room still spinning from the alcohol but drained and calm for the first time in weeks, Martinex had pulled him to his feet. He hadn’t hugged Stakar, for which the captain was again grateful, but he had clapped him on the shoulder with a grim little smile._

_Then the other man had gathered the items on Stakar’s bedside; the toy ship, the gloves, the knife, the shirt and the package. He’d taken them and gingerly wrapped them in the red fur that was clearly too small to belong to Stakar and stored them in the top drawer, handing his captain the key afterwards and then silently leaving the way he had come._

Stakar’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he processed the thought that Peter was still alive, clearly hale and healthy if his mug shot was anything to go by. He wondered what he’d been doing for the past eight years, where he’d been, who he’d become outside of Ravager influence.

Would he forgive him?

Would he let him wrap him in his arms like Peter had tried to do to him so many times over the years and been gruffly rebuffed for?

Would he even deign to consider letting Stakar back into his life?

Why hadn’t Peter tried to find him? Maybe he thought Stakar had abandoned him, maybe he was angry and hurt and didn’t want anything to do with him.

So many questions, and none of them answerable. All he could do for now was find the man responsible for Peter’s disappearance and exact his bloody angry revenge, find Udonta too and pull out of him just what he had to do with his boy. Patience was a virtue, he’d been told, but couldn’t quite convince himself to feel it as he waited for his men to bring him his targets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-DAAA! Welcome back, Stakar, you big gruff space daddy! Is it wrong that I have a little crush on my characterization of him? I am so excited that I get to bring him back, and also super stoked that so many of you asked to see him again.   
> Sorry for the lack of action here, but our boys are dealing with too many emotions right now and we gotta work them out.   
> Thank you again for your incredible encouraging reviews!! I hope you enjoyed the update :D


	14. State of My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, it's about 2:30 in the morning and I am about to pass out from exhaustion, but this bug hit me and I could not bring myself to rest before churning this one out. HOPEFULLY I don't wake up in the morning and notice a million mistakes, but honestly I am SO EXCITED for this and the next chapter!

Stakar was restless, his relentless pacing, the steady rhythmic clank of his boots on the metal floor threatening to make his first mate’s nervous tic a permanent feature. He’d been doing that for the past – Crux paused to look at the chronometer on the dash – two hours and fourty-two minutes.  Martinex had been sitting at his station for twenty minutes less than that, tapping his fingers almost in rhythm with the captain’s pacing footsteps:

_Clink, clink, clink._

Pause.

_Clink, clink, clink._

The loud, frustrated sigh Crux let loose was borderline insubordinate, but neither of the other men halted their movements and he threw his hands up in the air. “Sir, if the two of you don’t stop I’m gonna throw myself out the goddamn airlock!”

The footfalls and the tapping fingers halted and Crux sighed in relief before turning to look at the only other two people left on the ship. One of Stakar’s thick dark eyebrows was raised at him, and Martinex looked faintly guilty at causing one of his commanding officers to lose his temper, but they were looking at him, he had their attention, and that was the important thing.

“Remind me again why you’re still here when we all know you want to be out there looking for Peter?”

The other eyebrow on Stakar’s face hiked up to join the first, and Martinex’s eyes widened almost comically, but, hell, he couldn’t take this anymore. He and Stakar had been working together for so long that this really wasn’t the first time he’d called his captain out on his bullshit.

They’d get over it.

“You know why I’m still here. We need to stay stationary so that the men can find us if – “

“Right, which is why I’m going to stay here while you two take your incessant energy _somewhere else_ , and make yourselves feel useful.” He raised his hairless brow and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair and staring the two down.

Stakar’s brows drew together in a frown. “Are you sure you’re okay with that? You’d be alone, you know, in the middle of fuck nowhere.”

“Stakar, we’re anchored in place, there’s not a planet around for parsecs, and frankly if I have to listen to the two of you clucking around like mother hens for much longer I’m going to end up alone in here anyway.”

His captain let out a sharp bark of laughter, face lifting in relief and amusement and gratitude that his first knew him well enough to understand that the sitting still was going to be the death of him. Sometimes it was a necessity, when you were captain, to send others out to do the work for you, but if it drove Stakar to distraction on a normal day that was nothing compared to this.

He clapped Crux once on the shoulder in gratitude as he and Martinex exited, and Crux was _finally_ left in sweet, blissful silence.

\-----

_ Stakar _

 

 

They were en route to Contraxia, two days in to their flight, when Stakar’s comm lit up with an incoming call from one of his men. A flick of his hand and the screen flickered to life, Thrau’s grinning pink face filling up the monitor.

“What’ve you got for us, Thrau?” Stakar snapped, irritable and on edge. “Did you find Udonta?”

His sour mood didn’t seem to bother the other man. If anything, his toothy grin widened. “No sir. Better.”

Stakar glanced to his left to lock eyes with Martinex, who raised one shiny brow at him. He turned back to the screen with a scowl.

“Well? Spit it out, man, I don’t have all millennium!”

“Sorry, sir. I’m stationed on Xandar and, well, here. I’m gonna patch this news feed through to you.”

Stakar leaned forward in his chair as the screen sputtered briefly out and then came back online. A Xandarian news caster was on the screen, standing in the town square and speaking into a microphone.

_“Quite the disturbance wracked downtown today as four known criminals engaged in a violent shootout. All four suspects are now in custody, and authorities assure us that no one was harmed during the outbreak.”_

_Four images popped up on the screen: a green woman, some kind of angry looking rodent, a sentient tree, and_ –

_“Peter Jason Quill, a criminal known to be associated with the notorious Ravager Yondu Udonta – “_

The newscast blinked out and Thrau’s face replaced the Xandarian woman’s. Stakar realized that his gloved hands were clenched on his armrests and he was leaning forward, tense with anticipation.

“Well?” he demanded. “Is he still on-planet?”

“No, sir. All four of them were taken to the Kyln.”

Martinex was already readjusting their course, and Stakar felt a surge of affection for his long-time friend. He thumped his chest at Thrau in a Ravager salute, causing the other man to stand up just a little bit straighter. “You done good, man.”

“Orders, sir?”

Stakar considered for a moment before coming to a decision. “Nothing changes. Stay where you are. I got a feeling that Yondu isn’t going to be far behind on this one.”

A quick nod, a salute, and the screen once again went black. Stakar leaned back in his chair and took a deep, steadying breath. A quick glance at their flight path told him that even pushing the number of jumps they could safely do at once it was going to take two and a half days to get to the Kyln from where they were. He didn’t worry about Peter being stuck in a place where the max life expectancy was three years, tops, but usually less.

He was more worried that his little shit of a son was going to up and find a way to escape before he could get to him.

\----

_ Yondu _

The little plastic bauble rolled between his fingers, one of the only ones that had survived Peter’s fury. He was still picking little pieces of glass up off the floor, every shard a reminder of what had happened, of the sinking realization that his boy had left, that he wasn’t coming back. He’d never admit it, but the ship seemed emptier, somehow, now that Peter was gone, like he’d been taking up so much space and the absence of all that Terran was palpable. It was unbelievably frustrating that he couldn’t so much as take a damn shower without remembering a wicked grin, a hot mouth, a set of calloused roving hands.

He let out a sigh, irritated with himself and his current affliction of being unable to fully separate himself from his _feelings_ for more than thirty seconds. He constantly oscillated between all-consuming anger and burning _want_ these days. The little bauble made a muffled thunking sound as he placed it back in the row with undue force.

As it had been doing with alarming regularity as of late, his mind began to wander:

_Peter, pushed up against the wall of the engine room, smirking wickedly as he raked his nails down Yondu’s stomach._

_Yondu, pressed against that same wall three days later as his boy’s wicked mouth set to work on his aching cock._

_A breathy groan as Peter pushed into him, the burn of poor preparation a result of their haste and all the more delicious for it._

_Peter, grinning at him as they shot off into the stars, barely dodging a grisly death for the umpteenth time._

_The arm of the captain’s chair digging uncomfortably into his back (“told ya we wasn’t gonna fit, ya big idgit”), but the tight heat of Peter’s hole sinking down onto him making it_ so worth it.

 _A cool forehead pressed tightly against his, eyes closed, feeling_ safe, safe, safe _for the first time in he wasn’t sure how long._

He snapped himself out of his thoughts with a physical effort, clenching his teeth almost as tightly as he was clenching his fist. What was _wrong_ with him?

He jerked as he heard Kraglin clear his throat, close enough that if he were an enemy Yondu would have been dead already.

 _Distraction,_ that’s what Peter was, what he’d always been since he’d fallen into Yondu’s lap all those years ago. A big, mischievous, grinning distraction, with a wicked tongue and a fucking perfect body that Yondu missed burying himself in to the point that his wrist was constantly aching from thinking about it.

_Distraction._

 Distraction got you killed in this line of work. He had to remember that.

“Whaddya want, Krags?” he snipped, pretending not to notice when Kraglin rolled his eyes towards the ceiling of the M-Ship.

 _(“_ Shatner _,” Peter had called it once, laughter sparkling in his blue eyes. “If I’ve got the_ Milano _, you’ve got the_ Shatner _.”_

 _Yondu had scoffed. “I ain’t callin’ my ship nothing like_ Shatner, _boy.”_

_Peter had laughed anyway and pulled him down for a steamy kiss, and Yondu had forgotten what he’d been objecting to.)_

“You oughta see this, Cap,” Kraglin replied, thrusting a holopad under Yondu’s nose before making a hasty retreat, one, two, three steps back and effectively out of striking distance. Yondu raised his brow, frowning, and took a look at what Kraglin was so afraid to show him.

It wasn’t rare for him to come across a bounty featuring his own pretty mug, but he nearly choked at the price tag on this one.

“ _Sixty-thousand –_ who?”

Ah.

That was who.

Yondu rubbed absently at his temple as he read and re-read the posting.

_FUGATIVE: YONDU UDONTA_

_WANTED: ALIVE_

_GUARANTOR: STAKAR OGORD_

_BOUNTY: 60,000_

“Guess Ogord saw our bounty for Quill, huh?” Kraglin ventured, and Yondu swore that the ache pounding behind his eyes was going to be a permanent trait by the end of all this shit.

Sixty-thousand units was a hefty reward, and Yondu had no doubt that he was about to face an epic shit-storm when the more mutiny-prone men on his crew caught wind of it. A certain jackass by the name of Taserface came to mind and Yondu huffed out a breath. He was suddenly extremely glad that he and Kraglin had taken off on their own for Xandar. That gave him, what, a day or two, tops, before he was forced to take out what he estimated to be a pretty hefty chunk of his clan?

Yondu rolled his eyes when he realized that Kraglin was still standing on the other side of the ship. “Sit _down,_ ya jackass. I ain’t gonna hit you.”

Kraglin gingerly sat down in the copilot seat, eyeing his captain wearily. “What now? We gonna hightail it the other way, or what?”

“Nah. We’re gonna do exactly what I said we was gonna do. Bounty don’t make no difference. We’re comin up on Xandar now, might as well do what we came for,” Yondu replied, clicking off the auto-pilot and taking control of the ship.

He couldn’t tell if Kraglin’s sigh was more relieved or put-upon, though from the way the other man had been incessantly wringing his hands since Peter had gone missing he was willing to put good money on the former.

\---

 

He may have gone in to his meeting with the Broker in good spirits, but he sure as fuck hadn’t left the same way. He clutched the blue glass frog in his hand as he paced inside the Broker’s now-less-than-pristine shop, pulse pounding in his ears, palms sweating, and _fuck_ , what had Peter gone and gotten himself into this time?

 _“Ronan!_ Ronan the godsdamn _Accuser?_ ” he hissed, stepping once more over a bloody boot-print, kicking over another case with a deafening _crash._

Kraglin wisely remained quiet, eyeing the blood covered, still faintly glowing arrow with trepidation. Yondu kicked over another case with a wordless shout, angry, terrified, angry _because_ he was terrified. Ronan the Accuser. _Ronan the Accuser,_ terrorist, zealot, notorious slaughterer of entire _planets_ was after Peter and what the actual fuck was he supposed to do about it?

_Peter, smirking at him and licking Yondu’s cum off of his lips with an obscene wet smack._

_Peter, recklessly throwing himself into danger to save Yondu, to save Kraglin, to save literally everyone but himself, the selfless little shit._

_Wet kisses, cool fingers running lazily down his thigh, voice thick with satiation as he talked to Yondu about anything, really, in that infuriating way he had on the rare occasions they’d fallen into an actual bed on one of their M-Ships. Yondu pretended irritation with his grumble, but secretly luxuriated in the soft after-sex touches, in the way Peter kept talking until he’d just about drifted off. Yondu always hated leaving him once he was asleep, almost always sticking around just that extra minute, riding the U.S.S. Denial for just a few extra precious seconds._

_Peter, gone, just gone, but not just from Yondu’s life. Gone from everywhere, blinding light snuffed out under a Kree boot, and Yondu didn’t think he could_ live _in a galaxy without his boy in it._

He stopped his frustrated pacing and stared down at the figurine in his hand, the galaxy’s worst fucking idea forming in his mind’s eye. Stupid. Hell, this was so fucking stupid. He groaned to himself as he realized that he’d left himself no other choice, slipping the frog into his pocket and turning to face his first mate with a little quirk of his blue lips.

“Hey, Kraglin.”

Kraglin’s head jerked up, eyes wide, surprised at being addressed so soon into one of Yondu’s fits of temper. Downright shocked, really, along with a healthy dose of unease, at the manic grin slowly forming on his captain’s face. “Yeah, Cap?”

“When was the last time we done somethin’ real stupid? You know, _real_ stupid. I’m talking monumentally fucking stupid here, Krags.”

Kraglin suppressed a groan but answered honestly. “Dunno, Cap’n. I reckon it were about eight years ago. Round the time Peter came into our lives, if ya catch my drift.”

Yondu grinned, wide and toothy, because he’d set himself on a path and once he’d done that there was no turning back. He sauntered up to his first, his friend, and clapped him on one scrawny shoulder.

“This is gonna be dumber than that.”

Kraglin snorted, but looked his captain directly in the eye when he said, “I’m with ya, Cap.”

\----

_ Stakar _

When they’d turned up at the Kyln he’d immediately known that his fears hadn’t been unfounded. The prison was in absolute _chaos,_ alarms blaring, ships and guard bots darting around and around the facility. That mess had a massive stamp marked _Peter Quill_ all over it, and Stakar had turned the ship around without another glance because he recognized the blaring _escaped prisoner_ alarm and knew without a doubt that it was his fucking kid who was responsible.

No one had heard anything on Udonta or Talon, which, _fucking frustrating._ He and Martinex had made the mutual decision to head back to the _Starhawk_ , both because it was the easiest way to get in touch with all of the men at once and, frankly, they had no damn clue where Peter was headed to now. Best to make it back to their base and go from there for the time being, infuriating as that thought was.

His comm lit up with Crux’s scowling face, _beep, beep, beeping_ to notify him of the call and he answered it with a lazy flick of a finger. He didn’t even have a split-second to ask what was going on before Crux, agitated and frowning even more than usual, started babbling at him.

“Stakar, you need to get back here _right now._ We’ve got one hell of a situation here and – “

A big blue hand reached out and shoved his first out of the way and Stakar choked as Yondu’s grinning face filled up the screen. He waved, the jackass, actually _waved_ and Stakar was so goddamn shocked that he couldn’t do more than gape.

“Hey there, Stakar! Long time no see.” He paused to whistle his arrow off-screen, and Stakar’s brow twitched when he heard his first yelp in surprise. The Centaurian was still grinning impishly when he turned back to the screen. “Listen, you an me gots somethin’ to talk about. He’s big, pink, hairy, and a fucking idjit. I’m sure you know who I mean.”

That got Stakar’s attention in a hot second, surprise making way for slightly confused fury. “What did you do with Peter?” he hissed, leaning forward in his seat so he could grip the screen in one gloved fist. Ineffectual, he knew, but it gave his hands something to do.

A quick glance at Martinex assured him that if they had been pushing it on the way to the Kyln they were downright defying the laws of physics now. Yondu sniffed, crossing his arms and leaning back so Stakar could see him sprawled inelegantly in the captain’s chair. He was picking at his navy blue nails with a long stiletto knife, almost lazily, like he was sitting on a beach somewhere rather than _on Stakar’s fucking ship, in his chair._

“Ain’t done nothin’ to Quill.” And why did Stakar feel like that was a half-truth, a lie of omission? “Ain’t going to do nothin’ to your first here – wha’s your name? Crax? Cros? Crux! That’s it! – ain’t gonna do nothin’ to him either.”

If Stakar didn’t stop grinding his teeth they were going to end up looking like Yondu’s; jagged and metal-capped. “What the hell do you want then, Yondu? I don’t have time for your shit!”

Yondu turned his attention away from the screen when a scuffle broke out, and Stakar heard Crux arguing in hushed tones with someone else. When his former crewmember turned to him again he looked perhaps a little more serious, and it made Stakar wonder how much of his blasé attitude was an act and how much of it was real.

“Look, I’m just gonna sit here real pretty and wait for ya to get here, alright? I swear I’ll leave the _Starhawk_ in one piece, but ya need to get you and your men back here now.” He paused, frowning. Then, like the words were being torn from his throat, “Peter’s in trouble, Stakar, and I – “ He let out a frustrated breath.

“I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM!   
> I'm trying very hard to not just go and re-tell the movie (because, duh, there's some huge changes floating around in the character development), while still sticking to the spirit of it. Part of that comes in keeping away from Peter's POV for a bit, because obviously some things still need to happen in the same way so he's, you know, motivated to save the galaxy and all that good shit.   
> Anyway!   
> I'm stoked, and I hope you are too!


	15. Mr. Blue Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took quite a few liberties with canon here, guys, but I'm blaming the butterfly effect for any timeline discrepancies!  
> Also, I was going to try and avoid Peter's perspective for a bit but he wouldn't let me, the jerk!  
> Enjoy!  
> I want you guys to know that I'm struggling pretty hard with some depression right now and your kind words truly, honestly get me through the day sometimes. You guys keep being you! I appreciate you, dear strangers on the internet <3

_ Peter _

Gamora was beautiful, and strong, and her slender waist fit perfectly under his palms. As he hesitantly took her smooth hand in his and pulled her closer for a shuffling dance, he thought that maybe this was what he needed to get over Yondu. Bereet hadn’t done it for him, hadn’t even scratched the surface of the itch his former captain had left under his skin.

Gamora, though? Gamora was everything Bereet had not been, was strong ( _so_ strong. He still had bruises from their fight on Xandar, and was it wrong that it had kind of turned him on?), independent and self-sufficient. She was also, Peter realized as he went in for a kiss and found himself with a wickedly sharp knife pressed against his throat, emotionally unavailable with a capital U.

So maybe Peter had A Type.

Was angry and alien and not a little bit damaged considered a type?

“I _know who you are_ , Peter Quill! And I am _not_ some starry-eyed waif here to succumb to your – your – _pelvic sorcery!”_

Pelvic sorcery? Well, that was a new one. Peter shoved the knife away and rubbed gingerly at his throat. He was starting think that maybe – _perhaps ­–_ he had some issues. He’d only felt genuinely attracted to the personalities of two people in his entire life, and now each of them had threatened his life twice. Was this a result of his upbringing? If he ever found Stakar they were going to have to have a serious talk about what raising a kid as a mercenary did to the psyche.

“That is _not_ what’s happening! Fuck, why do I keep _doing this_ to myself?” He scrubbed at his face in irritation, holding out his other hand for the Walkman Gamora was handing him with a glare.

“You were doing something to _me,_ not to yourself,” Gamora hissed, clearly still agitated. She was standing next to him with her arms crossed, legs spread in a _come-at-me_ stance and Peter couldn’t help a little quirk of his lips.

Yup.

A Type.

He scratched the back of his neck and looked away. “I didn’t mean anything by it, alright? I wasn’t trying to use – ugh – _pelvic sorcery_ on you. I’m just. There’s someone – “ He cut himself off with a huff. He should not be trying to talk to this woman about this. Not only was he clearly actually attracted to her, but he barely knew her. Besides, even if she were willing to listen to him, admitting what he was still going through out loud was a dangerous game. He was steadily making his way to Denialville, and he felt like putting words to his thoughts was going to hinder that progress.

She was angry again, pushing right up into his face with a snarl. “You have a woman and still you _dare_ to try this with me? I knew from the start that you were dishonorable, Quill, but – “

Peter raised his hands in wide-eyed surrender, completely unprepared for her furious tirade and wanting to halt it before she did something crazy like gut him with the knife she’d once again raised against him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I do _not_ have a woman! Who _says_ that anyway? I’m not – _geez_ I know I have a reputation but I’m not gonna cheat on someone I’m in a monogamous relationship with. Thanks for the vote of confidence along with the rejection, though, really doing wonders for my self-image here.”

She blinked and lowered the knife. “You _said_ that there’s someone. Who did you mean, then, if not your romantic partner?”

When he realized his bowels were no long in danger of being spilled on the floor he gingerly lowered his hands, keeping one eye skeptically on the weapon in her hand. “There _was_ someone, I guess, but we – I – “ He paused to sigh in frustration. “It didn’t work out.”

“You have strong feelings for this person?”

Peter leaned against the wall, staring out at the breathtaking view in front of them. He loved space, loved the stars and the nebulas and the reminder of how much universe there was out there to see.

“You could say that, I guess,” he replied finally, lips quirking in a wry smile. That was an understatement, he was coming to realize. A massive understatement, really. He felt Yondu’s absence like a physical ache, could not stop his mind from wandering back to him even though he was still unbelievably hurt, and angry, and confused.

Wrecked.

Wrecked was the right word for how finding out about Yondu’s betrayal made him feel. Still, he found his mind constantly travelling to the other man, found himself thinking about senseless little things, things he’d had no idea even meant anything to him. He thought about sex, too - often and with vigor - but it was the small things that took him by surprise.

_Yondu’s stupid jagged teeth bared in an ear-splitting grin when they’d made a big haul._

_Hot hands on his body, stitching his torn skin together, distracting him from the burn of the needle with bawdy stories, or a description of all the dirty things he planned to do once they’d taken care of the wound._

_The way Yondu spoke, even, part southern drawl that reminded Peter achingly of home, and part ‘my native language is a series of clicks and whistles; sue me.’ That twang, that pitiful excuse for the English language_ did things _to Peter, honestly. When Yondu was speaking hotly into his ear, rubbing, kissing, sucking, and biting, his raspy voice washed over Peter like warm honey, thick and delicious and_ perfect _in its imperfection._

_Yondu and Kraglin flanking him as they took down an enemy, speaking to each other without a word, working as a unit without any fumbles because they’d been together so long that their teamwork had become seamless._

_The feeling of a soft kiss on the back of his neck, of the suddenly empty place next to him in bed on the_ Milano _when Yondu thought Peter was asleep and left for his own room._

_The tingling feeling of eyes on his back as Yondu stood in the doorway watching him, as always, before he crept silently out._

A gentle hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his reverie. When he turned he saw that Gamora was staring at him, eyes soft for the first time since he’d met her, and he wondered what pain she was holding inside under all of that cold anger. “Why did it not work out with this person?”

Peter snorted derisively. That was the fucking question of the century, wasn’t it? “That legend from my home planet? The one about Kevin Bacon and the town where people don’t dance?”

Gamora nodded seriously. “Where a cruel person put sticks in everyone’s butts, yes. This is a sad legend, Peter.”

“That’s not – you know what? Nevermind. Yeah, that one. Kevin Bacon falls in love with a girl named Ariel. She’s everything he wants; strong, and rebellious, and willing to dance. But she’s in a relationship with someone else, and – “

“This woman you care for belongs to another,” Gamora interrupted, looking thoughtful.

“Yes – no – wait. Ugh. It’s an _analogy._ The person Ariel belongs to represents Yon – the person I care for’s job, I guess.” Peter dropped his head into his hands, achingly aware that he was fucking this all up.

Gamora proved it a second later when she said, with a frown, “The person you care of is – a whore?”

“ _What?_ How did you get that from – “

Peter was interrupted by a livid shout and the sound of glass shattering. When he whipped his head around to seek out the source of the noise he was honestly not even really surprised to see who was causing the disturbance. “Aw, no, _come on!”_

As he made a valiant effort to prevent his newfound team from tearing each other limb from limb, he realized that, yeah, he was definitely a magnet for the emotionally fucked up detritus of the galaxy. The only one of them who seemed even remotely emotionally sound was Groot, and didn’t that just say something even more fucked up about them? The goddamn sentient tree who couldn’t say more than three words in one exclusive order was the least insane out of all of them.

Although he felt pretty bad about the way Drax had left them, he was extremely grateful when the Collector’s assistant interrupted their little fallout. He could not deal with this shit right now, fuck. What had started as petty revenge was slowly spiraling down into a situation that was fucking him up even more than he’d already been. Maybe, he thought as they followed the girl into the back, Terrans weren’t meant to live out in the rest of the galaxy.

There was some kind of disconnect, clearly, between him and the other species he came into contact with. As was evidenced by the fact that he was already starting to care for the strays he’d picked up in the most fucked up way, he obviously grew attached too easily. No one else seemed to have that problem when it came to him. Yondu was always cursing him as a “sentimental Terran,” and until recently he’d thought that the thought was exclusive to his gruff captain. Maybe it wasn’t, though. Maybe Terrans really _were_ less advanced that the rest of the galaxy in the attachment and emotions department.

He fought the urge to shiver at the downright creepy fucking menagerie the girl led them into. He’d never seen such a weird collection of shit in his life; rocks, weapons, even a fucking dog in a space suit that growled at Rocket. He was kind of cute, maybe, the way the raccoon growled back.

A flash of pink as they passed a little glass tank and Peter halted, stepping backwards again until he could see what was inside. A little pink fuzzy slug-looking thing, blinking at him dolefully with those familiar bulbous eyes. It’s green antennae were drooped down to the sides of his head. He leaned closer with a frown. “ _Mothra?_ That you?”

It definitely was.

He was one hundred percent positive that this little bug was the same one he, Yondu, and Kraglin had acquired all those months ago on A-Chitar III. It was even still wearing that golden cuff, which was probably a good thing because the case it was in was barely big enough for its little body and he couldn’t imagine how painful it would probably be if the little guy tried to go giant-shark-bug on someone in it. Well, at least he knew who the Broker’s benefactor was. He huffed and turned away, trying to ignore the little guilty pang in his chest.

There he went again, being sentimental and shit.

The Collector (the girl had given some name, but it was long and complicated and honestly Peter hadn’t been paying attention) was a real weird guy, and for Peter to think that was _really_ saying something. He looked like a David Bowie super-fan gone wrong, honestly, with that fucked up hair and the crazy fur coat.

The rest happened so fast that Peter was honestly left reeling. One second the Collector was talking about giants, about entire planets being wiped out in the blink of an eye (Peter really _had_ peed, just a little; he was man enough to admit it), and the next the building was being wracked by an explosive purple light and the girl was screaming and _holy fuck_ her skin was detaching from her body like a goddamn orange peel.

Then - because his life was honestly a fucking shit-show and why the hell should it stop being so just because they’d just been almost blown the fuck up – _Ronan_ showed up with a motherfucking _fleet_ , and wasn’t it just like his luck that it was the crazy ass blue stray he’d picked up who had called the guy?

He didn’t think he had any more room for shock, but when he heard a familiar voice rasping his name his heart did a funny little thing in his chest. It was not dropping in dread, it was not thudding in anger, and it was not racing from adrenaline; rather, it felt like it was fluttering in his ribcage in _excitement_ , and that was just so monumentally unfair because he really wanted to be angry and righteously indignant. While he was certainly those things, he recognized that he’d come to subconsciously rely on Yondu in dangerous situations and to say that the situation they found themselves in was _dangerous_ was really putting it mildly. Maybe it was a Pavlovian effect, like he’d been trained to respond to danger by making sure Yondu was at his back and now some weird psychological shit was what was causing his heart to betray him.

“Quill! Don’t you move, boy!” Yondu shouted from across the sea of panicking people and Peter gave himself one tiny second to take in that familiar voice, that familiar face, before he shuttered off his emotions and took off, dragging Gamora along behind him.

“Peter – fuck! Stop runnin’ from me, let me _talk –_ “

It physically hurt him to run when Yondu was _right there_ , asking him to stop, to talk, like he was actually the type of person who might possibly entertain the idea of apologizing, explaining, _something._ Not only was Peter painfully aware of the fact that that wasn’t true, but, well, Yondu wasn’t the only crazy blue person after him right now and the other ones were much more murderous in their intent.

 _Extremely_ murderous in their intent, Peter discovered as he watched Gamora’s _own sister_ take aim at her ship. And he’d thought he was the one with the fucked up family! He watched with a sinking feeling as Gamora’s ship blew to pieces around her and she was exposed to the stars, to the silent black of space. He knew as he watched her, suspended in the ruins of her ship like she was floating in the ocean, that he couldn’t just let her go. Again with the sentimentality, he supposed, but that was who he _was,_ who he’d _always_ been, from when he was six years old and fighting a group of kids twice his age for killing an innocent frog, to when he _could not_ let his captain die even though saving him meant he’d quite likely lose his own wife. Sentiment was, apparently, at the core of him, and he might as well learn to accept that.

“Ugh, dammit!” he hissed, dialing in to the comm so he could send his broadcast out to all nearby channels. He knew Yondu would be listening, and he knew he was angry enough that he would rather kill Peter himself than let him die in space. “Yondu! Yondu, it’s Peter.”

Rocket was yelling something at him through the comm, and it touched him a little to hear the panic in the raccoon’s voice. It made him feel like maybe the others had also grown to care for him, like he wasn’t alone in his band of fucked up misfits.

“My coordinates are 227k324, just outside Knowhere. If you want me, come get me.” A deep breath. “I’m all yours.”

Truer fucking words were never spoken, he realized as he released his mask and made his way over to Gamora. She felt smaller in his arms, more fragile like this without her emotional armor. He took a deep breath and transferred his mask to her, thanking his lucky stars that there was something in his blood that could keep him alive out there longer than any other Terran would last. It was still agonizing, though, the slow frost creeping over his body, the capillaries in his eyes bursting from the pressure and lack of oxygen.

His lungs were screaming by the time the lights of an approaching fleet washed over him. Had he any breath, he would have let out a relieved exhale as a massive shadow came into view. He looked up, expecting the _Eclector,_ expecting to see Yondu, Peter Pan stance in full swing as he stared at him out of the bridge’s bay window.

The ship whose beam had snatched them up was not, however, the _Eclector,_ and the man standing at the bay window watching him was far too large, far too serious to be Yondu, arms crossed across a barrel chest instead of placed on his hips. As he was dragged closer and closer to the mother ship the massive white star painted on the side came into view, and when he fell into the _Starhawk’s_ airlock on top of Gamora he had a sudden flashback to when he was a terrified six-year-old who had just had everything he’d ever known forcefully ripped from his life.

The gasping breath he managed was as painful as it was relieving, and he pulled himself to his elbows so his weight wouldn’t prevent Gamora from coughing out her own inhale. Her face was freezing when he placed his hand on it, but he could feel the heat slowly seeping back into it, reassuring him that she was whole and safe. He considered moving off of her, but he was honestly stalling, driving off the slowly creeping _hope_ and _longing_ he had felt when he realized that the person who had rescued them was his _dad_ , the one he hadn’t seen in eight years, the one who had thought he was dead for all that time. He didn’t want to consider it, because, let’s face it, his life was not that good, that perfect. He was wrong, somehow, mistaken or hallucinating from lack of air. He was terrified that when he looked up from Gamora’s face he was going to realize that he was _wrong, wrong, wrong_ , that he was mistaken and that steadily growing bubble of hope was going to be popped in an instant, like everything good in his fucking life.

“Peter, what happened?” Gamora asked once she’d caught her breath.

“I saw you out there, and I don’t know what came over me. But I couldn’t let you _die._ I found something inside of myself.” Well, that was just getting too damn close to seriousness. He switched tactics, reeling in the smirk that was fighting to get out, “Something incredibly _heroic._ I mean, not to brag, but objectively ­sp _–_ “

He almost felt a little bad when the soft smile slipped from Gamora’s lips and she sighed in exasperation. “Where’s the orb?”

Well, there was that too. She was gonna be so pissed.

“It’s – well – they got the orb, but – “

As expected, she sat slightly up in shock and anger, her lips so close to his that he was sure anyone looking at them would think that they were about to kiss. “ _What?!”_

The doors to the ship opened with a grinding sound and Peter heard the echo of heavy footfalls clanking on the metal floors. He was entirely unprepared, _again_ , when he looked up and saw that while he was certainly on the _Starhawk_ , the man standing at the front of the little pack was also _certainly_ Yondu. Behind him stood Kraglin, of course, but also _Martinex_ , and, fuck, _Crux?_

What the hell?

Yondu stepped forward when Peter made no move to peel himself out from between Gamora’s legs. He could see the Yaka arrow glowing through Yondu’s coat, and when he looked up to try and meet his former captain’s eyes he realized that the other man’s steely gaze was locked on where Peter’s hips were cradled between Gamora’s spread thighs. It didn’t take a genius to realize what that looked like, and Yondu was _livid_. It gave Peter a little thrill to see the possessive gleam in those red eyes, and instead of moving off of her he gave his hips the tiniest little wiggle and grinned.

“Hey, Yondu! Fancy seeing you here,” he quipped, and maybe he was stalling and maybe he was being an idiot but, hey, defensive mechanisms. He noticed belatedly that Yondu’s eye was bruised, that his lip was split, and he wondered what had happened.

Yondu’s lip raised in a little snarl, but Martinex stepped forward before anything more could be said, reaching down and pulling Peter forcefully up by his collar. He’d grown up around the man, sure, but the feeling of being pulled into that rock hard chest and wrapped in a pair of vice-like arms was entirely alien. He had no idea what to do, at all, but was spared any awkward arm waving when the hug turned out to be more of a grab and pat gruffly type of thing.

“Mart, it’s good to see you!” he quipped honestly, dazed, before he was yanked into a rough embrace from Crux, too.

“ _Peter_ , you have no idea how good it is to see you,” Crux exhaled, pushing Peter to arm’s length and clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on. Captain’s waiting for you.”

Peter dug in his heels, stalling, maybe, but also so incredibly confused. Seeing his _three_ different lives colliding like this was doing fucked up shit to his mental state. “I don’t – what? What the hell’s goin on here, guys? Seriously, this is the weirdest shit – and let me tell you that I’ve seen some _super weird shit_. How are you even – what is happening?”

He felt a soft hand on his forearm and looked over to see that Gamora had pulled herself to her feet. She was looking at him, limpid eyes full of sympathy and support, and it helped, honestly, to have that understanding look leveled at him. If anyone understood fucked up families it was her, and he was grateful that she was able to put her anger with him aside long enough to give him that reassuring hand.

“Stakar will explain everything. Come on, man, he’s feeling particularly impatient today,” Martinex said, smirking and jerking his shining head in the direction of the door.

Peter grasped Gamora’s hand, not really out of attraction or any type of romantic interest, but because she was offering him support and he honestly needed it. He was hyper aware of Yondu and Kraglin’s silence, could feel it pulling at him, could feel it eating away at the space between them like something physical.

One thing at a time, though, he thought as they walked down the familiar hallways of his childhood. He couldn’t deal with the Kraglin shit right that moment, and definitely was not equipped to deal with the Yondu Situation. One life-altering, possibly world-shattering moment at a time.

When they reached the doors to the captain’s quarters a few minutes later there was no pause before the door swooshed open and Peter felt himself yanked forward. He dropped Gamora’s hand and fell into Stakar’s embrace, and it was as unfamiliar as it was overwhelmingly comforting. His arms wrapped around the other man’s sides as if of their own volition, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden stinging of tears because he’d expected a lot of things, but not this. He’d secretly dreamed about this moment for _years_ , and out of all of the possible scenarios he’d come up with, being hugged to within an inch of his life by his stern, no-nonsense, ‘I-will-kill-you-before-I-admit-any-warm-feelings-towards-you’ father most assuredly had never featured.

He heard the others back out, heard the door shut behind them, but he just… stayed there. Stakar buried his nose in Peter’s hair and let out a shaky breath and Peter felt a tear slip down his cheek and seep into the other man’s shirt and he’d had no idea how much something as simple as a hug would affect him before now.

“Dad,” he choked, and it was like a dam had broken. Everything, _everything_ , he’d been keeping in for so long came crashing over him at once, teased to the surface by the sudden warm protected feeling he was experiencing in Stakar’s strong arms.

_Losing Stakar. The feeling of hurt and betrayal and disbelief that the man would exile him without listening to his story._

_Finding out that it had all been a lie, that the walls he’d spent the better part of seven years building around that ache in his heart had been all for nothing because he’d never been abandoned in the first place._

_Yondu._

_God,_ Yondu, _and his slow descent into all-consuming, heart-wrenching, life-changing love. The realization that there was no possible way that love could be returned but seeking him out anyway because he’d always been weak and how was he supposed to deny that powerful pull?_

_The burning sense of rejection when he’d stupidly confessed how he felt, and the all-consuming rage and heartbreak when a few hours later he’d been slapped in the face with Talon’s confession._

_Losing his family for the third time in his life, his choice this time but all the worse for it._

_The crushing sense of responsibility on his shoulders, of the need to protect his new friends with no idea how to, of the realization that they were the only ones who could save the galaxy now and_ how were they supposed to do that _? How were five fucked up misfits supposed to save the universe from a man who could control a stone capable of destroying_ entire worlds?

He felt moisture in his hair and realized that he wasn’t the only one being affected by their reunion. Stakar’s arms tightened around him to the point of crushing but he didn’t care, it didn’t matter.

“It’s okay, son, you’re safe,” Stakar breathed, voice laden with emotion in a way Peter had never heard before. “You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re _alive.”_

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, mostly silent, just holding each other as they’d always been too proud to do, processing in their own ways. When the tears had dried and Peter’s legs were starting to feel stiff from being in the same position for so long Stakar pushed him gently away by his shoulders with a sigh. Peter had expected him to look older, but honestly the only change eight years had wrought was a streak of grey hair at his temple. Alien biology, he guessed.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, son,” Stakar breathed, and that was the second time he had called Peter son and Peter thrilled at the idea that he was _finally_ being claimed by the person he’d _always_ considered to be his father.

“Dad, I’m in some big fucking trouble right now,” Peter said, heart lurching when Stakar didn’t rebuff him as he had in the past for the use of _dad._

Stakar patted his cheek once before moving over to his little table and sitting with a groan, gesturing for Peter to join him. “I know. Yondu told me what’s going on with Ronan when he found me.”

Peter spluttered because, _what?_ “Whoa, whoa, pump the breaks. Back it up for a second. When _Yondu_ found _you?”_

Stakar chuckled. “Yeah, surprised the hell outta me, too. He told me everything. About – “

Peter choked and fell into his chair. _Everything?_ Surely he didn’t mean literally _everything._

Stakar gave him an odd look before pulling out his flask and taking a long drag. Peter took it when it was offered to him, gesturing for his dad to continue and taking his own generous drink.

“He told me about how you saved him on Oorga, about how he couldn’t give you up after that and so he kept you. He told me about what you did for him, too, how you were stupid and reckless and got yourself almost killed by that jackass trying to get his arrow back. Noble, son, but fucking stupid.”

He took the flask back from Peter and sat back in his chair and Peter felt his body go limp in relief because if Yondu had told him _that_ he certainly would have had something to say about it. He noticed as Stakar brought the flask to his lips that his knuckles were cracked and realized that that was probably where Yondu’s black eye and split lip had come from.

“Then he told me about you rescuing him from the slavers and, hell, I didn’t think I’d raised such a goddamn hero but color me wrong!”

Peter ducked his head and looked away, aware that he was basically the worst Ravager in existence, but looked up when Stakar nudged his foot under the table.

“I’m real proud of you, kid, and I’m so damn lucky that I get to call you my son.” 

Later, when Peter and Stakar had finished speaking more openly than they had in their entire relationship, when Peter’s heart felt like one of the holes had been patched up, they made their way to the bridge together to find the others and make a plan of attack. He was more than a little surprised to find Rocket, Groot, and Drax in the ship, sitting around the table Stakar’s bridge crew usually occupied during meetings.

“Quill! Hey, man, glad you’re not dead!” Rocket quipped, propping his feet up and grinning a toothy little grin.

“It is good to see you alive and hale, my companion,” Drax said, solemn as ever, with a stiff little nod.

“I am Groot,” Groot said, predictably, with a dopey grin and Peter wondered if maybe he was starting to understand the big tree because that had sounded a lot like, “It’s good to see you, Star Lord.”

Peter couldn’t help the pleased little grin that stretched over his face, so big his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Guys! What are you doing here?”

Kraglin answered from his place at the navigation panel (Crux was standing next to him, tapping his foot in obvious irritation at having his place taken), “These idjits tried to blow us the hell up!”

Rocket scoffed. “We did not!”

“Actually, the weapon which I had aimed at the ship – “

“I am Groot!”

“Yes, thank you Groot, I know I wasn’t actually gonna do it!”

“Like _hell_ ya weren’t, ya little – “

Peter laughed; he couldn’t help it.

This, right here.

This was his family, the thing he’d been searching for his whole life; a bunch of fucked up weirdoes with a bucketful of psychological bullshit heaped on them. He was still pissed at Kraglin, still angry at Drax for calling Ronan, and he wasn’t even going to touch what he was feeling for Yondu with a forty-foot pole, but wasn’t that what family did? Fought and squabbled and at the end of the day joined forces with their greatest enemies, sought out the person who’d exiled them and put a 60k bounty on their head, and threatened to blow up massive Ravager ships to save you?

Speaking of Yondu – a quick survey of the room told him that neither he nor Gamora were present, and that was more than a little disturbing considering the fury on Yondu’s face when he’d seen Peter between Gamora’s thighs. His smile faltered.

“Uh, guys? Anyone seen Gamora?”

“I am here, Peter,” Gamora called, striding out of a side room with Yondu hot on her heels. “Ariel and I were just clearing up a misunderstanding.”

Peter choked, face flaming, because of _course_ Gamora was the one to work it out, of _course_ she'd put two and two together a realize that Yondu was the "Ariel" in his Footloose story. She was observant as hell, and so smart (clearly not the most astute when it came to abstract concepts like analogies, but intelligent nonetheless)  which was part of the reason Peter liked her so much. 

Rocket howled in laughter, slapping his knee and wheezing. “Y-your name is _Ariel?_ _Dude!”_

Yondu scowled. “Shut up, rat! My name ain’t _Ariel_! I got no clue what this little lady’s talkin’ bout!”

“It is okay, companion. Ariel is a fine name. There was a woman from my home planet named Ariel. She was beautiful, and – “

“I am Groot!”

Peter dropped his head into his hands as Rocket’s howls turned into choking snorts of mirth.

“What? What’d he say?” Yondu snapped.

“H- he said – ahahahahahaha – he said he thinks it’s a v-very pretty name,” Rocket wheezed, doubled over on the table and beating his little fists on the metal.

Stakar clapped him on the shoulder and when he looked up he saw that the older man was grinning. “Quite the crew you’ve got here, kid.”

Peter snorted, and maybe their squabbling was soothing to him, was filling up the little cracks in his heart like liquid glue. Maybe everything was going to be okay after all, he thought as he grinned back at his dad and the sounds of mirth and frustration increased from behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You could eat that sap with a spoon, I know, but goddammit they deserve it! We're gonna get a nice healthy dose of angst again soon, don't you worry your pretty little heads!  
> Let me know what you think because, as always, I am weak and needy and my author heart craves opinions T_T


	16. Woke the Fuck Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys SO MUCH for your words of support. I've struggled for a long time off and on with depression, and it means a lot for you guys to be so sweet about it!   
> The song this time is called "Woke the Fuck Up" by Jon Bellion. Check it out, I think it really fits!  
> This chapter is not what I had planned for it to be when I first set out to write this fic, but Yondu and Peter are taking me in different directions and I have no choice but to let them. I hope you still like it!   
> Also, WARNING, there's another crappy art piece at the bottom of this so definitely don't pull this up somewhere where people might think it's weird to see a naked blue guy with a lap full of human.

_ Peter _

Peter sat on one of the benches facing out at the bay windows on the _Starhawk_ , staring down at the object clutched in his gloved hands. He’d been there for a while, unable to sleep, unable to rest with the upcoming battle looming before them the next day. He was painfully aware of the very real possibility (probability, really) that he was leading his newfound family to their grisly deaths.

_“You’re asking us to_ die, _” Rocket had said, and Peter’s heart broke, just a little because, yeah, he guessed he was. He sighed and turned away, at a loss, because how could he honestly ask that of anyone when four days ago he wouldn’t have been able to do it himself?_

_“You know,” Stakar ventured, and when Peter turned back to look at him he was slapping his knees and pulling himself to his feet. “I done a lot of real bad shit in my life. Killed so many people I couldn’t begin to count half of em, some of em innocents probably. I don’t know. But I_ do _know, that I would be damn proud to have my last act be something_ good _and_ selfless _. You know I’m with you, son, me and my crew.”_

_Peter smiled gratefully at his father, but Rocket threw his hands up in the air with exasperation. “Well that’s fuckin’ great and all, but you’re his_ dad _! You’re – ugh –_ family. _You go right ahead talking about selflessness, but sacrificing yourself and your whole damn clan for your son ain’t only stupid, but damn selfish too. Of_ course _you want to see him live, geez! The rest of us ain’t got no family. What’s in it for us?”_

_To say that Peter was surprised when Yondu was the next to speak would be an understatement. They hadn’t said a single word to each other since they met at the airlock, and Peter had been sure that it was going to remain that way until his life came to a grisly end at the hand of a death-stone wielding megalomaniac._

_When Yondu sighed and stepped up to the table to join the rest of them, Peter eyed him with trepidation, taking in the determined set of his jaw, the way he had one hand on his hip to expose his arrow. Peter recognized the stance. It wasn’t a threat – the arrow always lit up in threat – but a gesture of comfort for the man, like a reminder that he could protect himself from anything the universe threw at him because he had that arrow. It was a stance Peter had always secretly thought he took when he was feeling vulnerable_

_“Look here, rat. It’s pretty damn clear that you lot got plenty of family. They’re all lookin’ at chu right now, sitting round this here table. If you can’t see that, then I feel damn sorry for ya.” He paused to roll his shoulders and crack his neck, another achingly familiar gesture, and Peter wondered when he’d catalogued every little tic Yondu had._

_“My fleet’s almost here, Stakar here’s got the biggest damn clan this quadrant, and this idjit Terran here, well.” Yondu turned his gaze to level with Peter’s, making eye contact for the first time and Peter’s heart stuttered. “He’s got a way of surprisin’ ya. He’s saved my sorry ass on more’n one occasion, and I ain’t sayin’ I’m ready to kick the damn bucket yet, but I’m willing to risk it if he’s the one I’m followin’.”_

_That, right there; Peter had never heard sweeter words and he decided in that moment that he could damn well fucking get over what Yondu had done to him. He may have had a hand in orchestrating Peter’s disaster of a life but if there was anything Peter had learned in the past few weeks it was that one way or another his life was_ always _going to be a giant fucking shit-show. Yondu, in the end, had given him a new place to call home, a good life, a good friend. He’d saved Peter more times than Peter could count, and in the end he was still the person Peter trusted most in the entire galaxy. He couldn’t deny that, and hell if he was going to die tomorrow then what was the point? The fact that he’d also turned himself into Stakar, swallowing years of hurt and pride to save Peter just made it all the easier to let it go. He knew he’d never stop loving this emotionally fucked up old man, and he was tired of fighting it._

_He smiled at Yondu, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Yondu didn’t smile back but he did nod once and turn his gaze away in a gesture that would have been shy on anyone else._

_“Quill,” Gamora started and Peter turned to meet her proud gaze. “I have lived most of my life surrounded by my enemies.” She stood and Peter’s heart swelled. “I will be grateful to die among my_ friends. _”_

_Drax was next, and Peter felt a surge of affection for the damaged man who hid his soft interior under layers of muscle and anger. “You are an honorable man, Quill. I will_ fight _beside you. And in the end… see my wife and daughter again.”_

_Groot, that big lovable tree, drew himself to his full height. “_ I _am_ Groot.”

_That left only Rocket, who looked at them all for a second before rolling his eyes and sighing. “Oh, what the hell? I don’t got that long a lifespan anyway.”_

_He stood, and his tender tone was gone in an instant. Peter felt a smile stretch over his face as the acerbic tone came back full force. “Now I’m standing, you all happy? We’re all standing up now. Bunch a jackasses, standing in a circle!”_

He couldn’t say he was surprised when the door swished open and the sound of heavy footfalls made their way over to him. Stakar sat next to him with a sigh and crackling of worn leather. Peter didn’t turn away from the object in his hand, and Stakar stared thoughtfully out at the stars. They could see the _Eclector_ out the window, which had been part of Peter’s motivation for sitting in that particular place. “So. Yondu, huh?”

Peter snorted. Was he that obvious? “Yeah, well, being raised a mercenary really fucked with my head man. Done some real weird shit to me, including, you know, being attracted to angry old aliens I guess.”

Stakar hummed. “You know, I’ve known Yondu a long time. He’s always been… different. Angry, I guess, and so damaged from the life he’d led. His parents sold him into slavery when he was just a little kid, did you know that?”

Peter nodded, remembering with vivid clarity the conversation he’d had with Yondu all those years ago after the Oorga disaster.

He felt Stakar shift next to them until their shoulders were brushing. “He’s always had a hard time being vulnerable. I mean, okay, we all have a hard time with that. Stars know I’ve had my fair share of emotional constipation, especially when it came to you, but Yondu’s always been on a different level. He’s known so much heartache in his life it’s no wonder I guess.”

Peter chewed his lip, rolling the object between his fingers, waiting for Stakar to get to the point.

“I’m not sayin I ain’t gonna kick his ass again for touching my boy, the fucker, but Peter – “ He paused to nudge Peter’s shoulder until he looked up to meet his father’s gaze. “I’ve never, in all the years I’ve known him, seen Yondu willingly put himself in danger for someone else. I’m talking _never_ , here, as in not once. I’m not sayin’ he hasn’t saved my ass a fair few times, but always when there was no risk to himself. Kid, for all he knew I was gonna kill him when he broke into my ship the other day. I was angry enough to, at the time, and still the asshole broke in here, took Crux captive, and called me to him.”

A firm hand clasped his shoulder and Peter let out a breath before Stakar continued. “Now he’s not only risking himself, but his clan, everything he’s worked for since the moment I met him. If that doesn’t say something about how much he cares for you I don’t know what would.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, and when his silence continued Stakar squeezed his shoulder once and stood. “Just think about that for a bit, son. I ain’t saying that I _approve_ , but hell you don’t need my approval and honestly I think you two could really be something, make each other better. He’s a good man underneath all of the layers he’s built around himself over the years.”

As Stakar’s heavy steps faded away and the doors swooshed shut behind him Peter turned his gaze back to his hands, staring at the ridiculous bulbous eyes on the little pink sloth, chewing on his bottom lip in thought.

_ Yondu _

Yondu jerked awake when he heard his door open. Hadn’t he locked it?

His whistle died on his lips when he saw who was standing in the doorway, though, broad shoulders unmistakable even silhouetted in the dim light from the hallway. He raised up on his elbows, naked back pressed into his furs and waited to see what his boy was going to do.

_His boy._ Still his boy, even now, even after everything that had happened between them.

He watched as Peter let the door slide closed behind him, submerging the room in darkness. Yondu could still see his hulking outline, though, in the light filtering dimly in through the crack under the door. The figure moved forward, reaching up to peel the jacket off his shoulders as he went, and Yondu’s slightly glowing red eyes followed the movement. A shuffling sound and the _thunk, thunk_ of boots falling to the floor, and then Peter was crawling up onto his bed.

Yondu was afraid to break the silence as his boy pulled himself up into Yondu’s furs, as Yondu felt that hulking weight slither up his naked body, as one thick muscular thigh slung over his hips and Peter settled on top of his haft-hard length, his leather pants causing delicious friction. He hesitantly slid his hands up Peter’s thighs, coming to rest on either side at the junction of his hips.

“Pete, what – “

He was cut off by Peter’s lips on his, sweet and gentle in a way no one had _ever_ been with him and he was so weak in that moment, sleep-soft and overwhelmed with everything he’d been going through. He leaned up into the kiss but Peter pulled away, grasped Yondu’s neck at the base of his skull and pressed their foreheads together.

“Shh, baby, just – “ A shaky exhale, breath ghosting over Yondu’s lips, causing a shiver to jitter down his spine. “I _know_ , okay, I _know_ you don’t feel the same way but can’t we just have this? We’re gonna die tomorrow, probably, so just – just let me have this. Please?”

Yondu closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions Peter’s words hit him with, because, fuck, that just wasn’t _true._ The realization that he was so fucking incredibly, deeply, head over goddamn heels in love with this Terran, _his_ Terran, slammed into him with a force that left him reeling. He was helpless to do anything, say anything, because how was he supposed to deal with that?

Peter took his silence for consent, and then those tender lips were on his again and Yondu pushed his world-shattering realization to the back of his mind for now. He wasn’t ready for it, maybe never would be, but he _was_ ready for the way Peter’s tongue ran over his bottom lip, asking for entrance. He ran his hands up Peter’s hips, his sides, up to his neck where he carded his fingers through the ginger locks. He’d always secretly loved the soft feeling of Peter’s hair between his fingers, had always silently luxuriated in the way the strands slipped between his fingers.

Peter’s hand was on the side of his face, thumb sliding along his jaw, gentle and soothing and Yondu couldn’t help the way he leaned slightly into it. He ran his own hand down Peter’s throat to the first button of his shirt, pulling it open before moving onto the next, and the next, and the next until he could push the garment off the Terran’s shoulders. He could feel his implant responding to the way his heart was feeling, could feel it glowing to life with the force of his emotions, washing Peter in a hazy red light.

Yondu grunted as Peter rolled his hips, ever so slightly, his leather-clad ass rubbing against Yondu’s length. Yondu ran his hands down Peter’s sides until they reached his hips, and then slithered them around to grasp the globes of his ass, pushing Peter’s hips down and basking in the feeling of his cock rubbing Yondu’s stomach.

Their mouths broke apart so that Peter could trail soft kisses over the corner of his lips, his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He paused to suck a little mark at Yondu’s collarbone, an area they both knew was sensitive for the Centaurian, and Yondu arched up into the feeling. His breathing was becoming ragged, short panting exhales, and he raked his nails down Peter’s back in a way he knew drove the boy wild.

When Peter trailed his kisses down and across Yondu’s chest, he stopped at one of his navy nipples and sucked the nub between his teeth, laving at it and causing Yondu to let out an involuntary little moan. Too soon those lips were gone, moving down, down, down, sucking and gently nibbling, hot tongue trailing along to soothe the bites. He carded his hands through Peter’s hair when he buried his nose in Yondu’s smattering of pubic curls. The way that his Terran breathed in through his nose, like he was worshiping the scent at the junction of Yondu’s thighs, made Yondu’s hips buck and he felt Peter’s breath huff out over his balls as he chuckled.

This was _so different_ from anything Yondu had ever experienced, soft and carnal, and he found himself relishing it, logging away every breath, every kiss, for the future because it was truly exquisite. He shouted out as a hot wet mouth engulfed him, taking every inch of him in one glide. Peter knew him, knew what he liked, knew he loved the gentlest of tugging at his sac, loved one wet probing finger at his hole, writhed when Peter slid up his length and ran his tongue between his ridges.

“Petey, gotta stop. I’m not gonna last. Hell,” Yondu panted hips bucking under Peter’s rough palms. “ _Please_ , Pete, need you.”

He was too gone by then to care that he was begging, the unexpected tenderness in the act burning him alive, causing him to lose _control_ in a way he did not, as a rule, allow himself. This was Peter, though, and if there was anyone he trusted with every molecule in his body it was his boy.

Peter gave one last luxurious suck before sliding off of Yondu’s length with an obscene wet _pop_ , and then rolled away long enough to hastily yank off his pants and toss them across the room. It was only seconds before he’d draped himself over Yondu’s body again, hands braced on either side of Yondu’s head as he lowered himself onto his aching cock.

He was wet, already stretched, and Yondu growled at the thought of Peter, alone in his room, prepping himself with those long thick fingers while thinking about _him._ He grasped Peter’s hips between his hands and pushed up the rest of the way until his boy was fully seated on him, clenching delectably, groaning at the stretch.

“ _Yondu_ , fuck, I missed you,” Peter groaned into his neck, rolling his hips _just so_ , and the words sent a little involuntary thrill through Yondu.

“I – “ A gruff moan, raspy. Peter was riding him, rolling his hips, raking his nails down Yondu’s sides, gentle and rough at the same time and the words felt like they were being ripped from Yondu’s throat but he couldn’t help it. “I missed you too, boy. Stars, so good, so hot. Missed that tight hole, that hot cock. Shit, Petey, just – hngh – don’t stop. Don’t – ah – “

He was so close, so close already, and he pulled Peter’s mouth onto his so he could suck that tongue into his mouth, reaching down at the same time to fist Peter’s leaking cock. He ran his thumb over the slit, gathering up the moisture there and using it to ease the slide of his hand down his length. Peter, sexy, beautiful Peter, keened into his open mouth, hips stuttering, hole clenching around Yondu’s cock and Yondu thrusted up to meet Peter’s rolling hips, feet sliding on the furs and it was perfect, _so fucking perfect._

“Yondu, _Yondu,_ come on baby, can’t – ah! – can’t last any longer,” Peter panted into his mouth, the steady roll of his hips becoming jerkier, more erratic.

“Jus’ come fer me, boy. Wanna feel you come on me, jus’ – “

Peter did, his hot seed spilling over Yondus fist and onto his stomach. The way his muscles spasmed with his release, pulsing over Yondu’s thrusting cock, sent Yondu over the edge too and he threw his head back with a shout as he released into Peter’s channel.

Peter fell off of him with a groan, sidling up into Yondu’s chest without hesitation and letting out a contented sigh. Yondu licked Peter’s cum off of his fingers, the salty bitter taste of Terran spunk something he’d found he _really_ enjoyed, and then used Peter’s discarded shirt to clean off his stomach. When he’d tossed the soiled garment to the side he felt Peter drape one thick arm over his chest, felt a sweaty head rest in the crook of his shoulder, and he felt… _tenderness._

“I know you have rules, but just let me stay? Just this once,” Peter said, and Yondu could hear the way his voice was thick with approaching sleep.

He sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing, deciding that letting Peter sleep in his room was nothing compared to the way they’d just undeniably _made love_ instead of their usual fucking. “Okay, Pete. Just – Jus’ this once.”

“I love you,” Peter mumbled face pressed to Yondu’s neck, barely awake. 

_I love you, too,_ Yondu thought, still unable to say it out loud, even now as his arm tightened around his boy’s shoulders and he buried his nose in those sweat-damp ginger curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yondu, I think, is actually just an emotionally closed off baby with one massive soft spot. I don't think he would have ever kept Peter if this wasn't true, and I think it would just take the right person to find it. So, there we go. We found it. And I love him T_T


	17. Bring it on Home to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a freaking difficult chapter to write. I know it's short, and I am so sorry about that, but ultimately what it came down to was that this battle is pivotal to the movie, definitely pivotal to Peter's character, but the plot in this particular story goes beyond it. I'm not happy with the way that it turned out, but I promise I'll make up for it in the next few updates!  
> As always, your reviews give me life and I appreciate them endlessly, even if it's bad news!

He’d woken that morning to the unfamiliar sensation of a body pressed flush against his back, to the heavy comforting weight of an arm across his torso, to warm soft breaths puffing over his shoulder blades with Yondu’s every exhale. While he knew that things between them were far from perfect, knew that there were still so many things left unsaid, he felt at peace within his own mind for the first time in what felt like months. Yondu would never love Peter the way that Peter loved him, was maybe even incapable of those feelings if Kraglin was to be believed, but at least Peter had him in some capacity.

He'd woken Yondu with a peppering of soft kisses down his neck, and when Yondu opened his eyes he'd pressed their lips together and huffed out a breath as Yondu rolled them over so he could press his hard length against Peter's. They hadn't spoken, just fallen together, tongues lapping lazily at each other, hips rolling, the only sound in the room the rustle of furs and their soft moans.

\----

Peter walked onto the bridge on Stakar’s ship twenty minutes before they were supposed to take off for Xandar, Yondu at his side. The others were already gathered, all sitting around the table on the bridge, tense and apprehensive but each with a steely determination in their eyes. A ragtag gathering of people from both Yondu’s and Stakar’s fleets were standing off to the side, and the anticipation in the room was palpable. Aside from a raised eyebrow from Stakar and a knowing little smirk from Gamora, the only greeting they received was a series of nods as they made their way into the room and sat down.

“Alright, we’re gonna go over this one more time,” Peter said, and the others turned to watch as he pulled up a holo of Ronana’s ship to hover over the table.

“Rocket and his team are going to create a diversion by blowing a hole in side of the Dark Aster’s starboard hull. Yondu, you need to get your craft inside. We’re going to need you guys in there when we face Ronan.” He paused to spin the image of the ship around to the port side.

“Won’t there be hundreds of Sakaaran soldiers inside?” Kraglin asked, and Peter leveled him with a particularly unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“Seriously, Krags? After all we’ve been through, you’re worried about a few Sakaarans?”

Peter smirked as Kraglin’s cheeks flamed and the slighter man cross his arms. “I’m just sayin, that’s an awful lot of men for just us to take down.”

“We’ve faced worse odds just you, me, and Yondu. Yondu's gonna have Drax and Groot too, and let me tell you that they’re each worth ten of me.”

Drax put one of his large hands on Kraglin’s shoulder. “Never fear, companion, I know you are weak but I shall protect you.”

Peter hid his laugh with an unconvincing cough when Kraglin spluttered and tossed Drax’s hand off his shoulder, indignant. “Alright, come on guys let’s focus here! While Yondu,  Drax, and Groot try and get inside the starboard side, Gamora and I will take Stakar’s Rigellian stealth craft and sneak into the hopefully empty hangar.”

Gamora stood and gestured to the holo of the ship. “Once Ronan knows that he’s been breached, he’s going to isolate himself behind a set of impenetrable security doors on deck. Hopefully he won’t know that Peter and I are on board, and I’ll be able to dismantle the power source and get those doors open.”

“We’ll use the Hadron Enforcer to kill Ronan, and hope to fuck it doesn’t take down the whole ship with it. Dad, we need your fleet to cover Nova as they start the evacuation process. I’m gonna get in touch with a Nova officer I know down there, but they’re not going to have enough time to evacuate the whole city before shit starts to hit the fan.” He flicked the display of Ronan’s ship and it flew off screen to make room for an overhead view of Xandar. “They’re going to need you guys to draw as much fire away from them as you can while they get the civilians out.”

Yondu pulled himself to his feet beside Peter, resting his hands on the table in front of him. “The Broker told me what this here stone can do, and it ain’t pretty. That thing hit’s the planet’s surface, and we’re all fucked. I dunno about you jackasses, but I’m mighty fond of my own ass and plan on keepin’ it. Under no circumstances does Ronan get to the ground, y’hear me?”

Peter nodded in agreement and met Stakar’s eye from across the table. “Yondu’s right. The stone’s mean to react to anything organic, and the bigger the target the harder we’re fucked. I’ve seen what it can do when it touches down on a whole planet, and let me tell you that if that happens there ain’t no coming back from it.”

Rocket stood on the table, walking over the flickering holo of Xandar like Godzilla, and stared seriously out at the room. “There’s one more thing I need before we can execute the plan!”

Yondu and Peter exchanged a confused look. This was news to them.

Peter groaned when a second later Rocket pointed to one of Stakar’s men who had a few prosthetic limbs. “We need that guy’s arm. Also, while we’re at it, his eye – “

Peter jumped in when it looked like the poor guy was actually about to remove his appendage. “No, no, Yorrik, we don’t need your arm _or_ your eye. Rocket’s just being a dick.”

“It’s okay, I can fly without them! If you need them – “

“See? What a team player. We absolutely do need them, thank you, your service is appreciated sir.”

“Rocket, come on!”

“What? I do need them!”

“No you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do. Come on man, it’s important to me.”

Stakar stepped forward, halting their bickering with a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Time’s up, kid. Ronan’s almost here. You ready for this?”

The severity of the situation settled on Peter’s shoulders like a heavy blanket, and his smile slipped from his face as he took a moment to survey his new family. His heart swelled at the sight of them all staring back at him, determination and trust in their faces. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re ready. I – guys, we might fucking die today, but I’m happy that if I gotta go out at least it’ll be surrounded by my family, trying to do something good for the first time in my whole damn life.” He paused to take a determined breath.

“Let’s go save the galaxy.”

Peter was turning the corner to the hangar, behind the others, when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder and pull him out of sight. He grunted as he was pushed against the wall and Yondu’s rough lips descended on his. Yondu brought one hand up to the back of Peter’s neck, the other slipping down to grasp Peter’s hip and pull their bodies closer together.

Peter gave as good as he got, recovering quickly from his surprise and opening his mouth to Yondu’s probing tongue, pushing his hands under Yondu’s layers of leather to run them down the skin of his back. He moaned into the kiss when Yondu nipped at his lip, hips stuttering forward, and this was maybe the wrong time but hell they were about to die so what was a few more seconds?

Yondu was the one to break apart, pulling back with one last hard kiss to Peter’s lips and then one soft peck to the corner of his mouth before pushing their foreheads together and taking a calming breath. The gentleness in the gesture was unlike Yondu, the soft strokes of those blue fingers to the hair at the base of Peter’s neck completely at odds with his usual grasping and pulling. Peter relished it, basking in their private moment and wishing that they didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to go off and probably die because he wanted a hundred more years of this; even if _this_ wasn’t perfect, was an uneven partnership in which Peter gave his all and Yondu gave himself in little pieces. He’d take anything, he had realized, absolutely any piece Yondu was willing to give him.

“We ain’t gonna die, boy, you hear me?” Yondu whispered, voice rougher than usual, and Peter opened his eyes to meet Yondu’s crimson irises.

“You don’t know that, Yondu. We’ve never faced anything like this before. Ronan is – “

Yondu cut him off with a hard press of lips before pulling back to look him in the eyes again, foreheads still pressed firmly together. “I don’t give a fuck what Ronan is. There’s too much – too fucking much we still gotta do. Don’t you go bein’ all fucking noble on me and sacrifice yourself for no greater good. Yer a Ravager, boy, and we don’t _do_ selfless. We lie, and we cheat, and at the end of the day we _win_ , do you understand?”

Peter let out a breath and nodded, grasping the back of Yondu’s vest in a tight fist from under the man’s coat. “I’m not gonna just run to my death, but that doesn’t mean – “

Yondu pushed at Peter’s chin with his tumb, the gentle pressure moving Peter’s jaw up ever so slightly. “Don’t. We’re gonna get through this like we always do; as a team, alright? We got Krags, and Stakar, and those fucking weirdoes you brought along with you, and Pete, I know I ain’t said it enough – maybe I ain’t never said it – but there’s no one I’d rather have at my back when shit goes sideways like this more’n your fool ass.”

Peter let out a shaky breath and leaned forward for one last open mouthed kiss before pulling back and looking his former captain right in the eye. “Yondu, I love you. I love you _so much_ , and I know you don’t want to hear it, that you can’t love me back. I know that it’s fucking stupid and sappy, but I can’t – I’ve loved you for what feels like my whole goddamn life and I can’t go out there and do this without saying it to your face.”

Yondu sucked one of his blue lips between his teeth before sighing, a determined look coming over his face, and Peter thought his heart was about to stop because it sure as fuck looked like Yondu was about to say something mind-blowing.

“Petey, I – “

Yondu was interrupted when they heard the unmistakable sound of a weapon clattering to the floor behind them followed by Rocket’s disgusted exclamation. Yondu pushed away from Peter like he had been burned and when Peter turned to look at their interruption he saw Rocket, gun on the floor, with his little hands over his eyes.

“Jesus fuck, Quill! That is _disgusting_!” Rocket yelped, groping around on the ground with one hand while still keeping the other over his eyes. “I knew you had issues, but seriously? So gross. We’re leaving so get your tongue out of his mouth and move the fuck out before we all go blind – ugh – I can’t believe I just saw that.”

The moment was gone, replaced with a tense urgency, and Peter nodded once at Yondu before they went their separate ways.

\---

Like everything in Peter’s life, almost nothing went according to plan in the end. He and Gamora made it into the ship before everything went to shit, and he supposed that was the important thing, but that was basically where their plan got fucked. They hadn’t planned on Gamora’s psycho sister, hadn’t planned on the necrocrafts dive-bombing the city. They sure as fuck hadn’t planned on the Hadron Enforcer bouncing off of Ronan like nothing more than a goddamn bug, hadn’t planned on the way Ronan stopped Yondu’s arrow as it flew towards his face and snapped it in half without blinking.

Peter hadn’t considered Rocket careening in through a hole in the ship and squashing Ronan flat, but ultimately taking out the ship along with it. He hadn’t considered Groot, that big lovable tree, sacrificing himself for all of them, hadn’t considered how his heart would break in his chest when he smiled at all of them while they careened towards the ground and said, “ _We_ are Groot.”

He hadn’t considered the way all the power of the infinity stone would feel coursing through his veins, powerful, agonizing, mind-blowing in its intensity. He hadn’t considered the way his heart would swell when he felt Yondu’s hand grasping his, felt some of that power flowing into the other man, or the way it would feel when his friends joined the chain and they stood as one against a seemingly impossible foe and proved that together they really could do anything.

As the dust settled and the power seeped out of them, Peter looked around at the haggard, half-dead people he’d taken into his life; Drax, Gamora, Yondu, and a sniffling Rocket, and he knew he’d found his purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have asked whether this is going to be the end of Fox on the Run, and the answer is... maybe? I have a lot more to write, so the story definitely isn't over, but I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to keep it all in this post or end it with the next chapter and make a sequel.  
> What would you guys prefer?  
> Again, sorry for the weirdness and brevity of this update!


	18. Ships in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, this is it! The last chapter of Fox on the Run. I've never finished a fic before, and I definitely credit all of you guys with being able to do it this time. If it weren't for your kind words, for your encouragement, I don't think it would have gotten done! So thank you, and I hope you like the way I've ended things!

Dr. Jael was just as smug and knowing as Peter remembered him, keeping Peter in bed for a whole damn day after the battle for Xandar. Peter had argued that it was fucking bullshit that the others didn’t have to do the same, to which the good doctor had happily informed him that the others were all warrior species or genetically modified and if he didn’t like it they could work something out. Peter remembered (or didn’t, as the case may be) days of being forcibly tranquilized and wisely shut his big mouth. He was almost flattered that despite his recent heroics the hospital staff was still weary enough of him to give him those same giant orderlies.

 Stakar and his fleet were aiding Xandar in the bigger clean-up tasks, using their ship’s tractor beams to move away the Sakaaran vessels and larger bits of debris (Yondu was helping, too, but Peter suspected that Stakar had literally dragged him into it). It was kind of admirable, honestly, and Peter wondered where Stakar had been hiding that soft spot in him for so many years and when he’d let it loose. Rocket, he knew, was spending every waking moment at the little pot he’d planted the Groot twig in, making sure he had enough water, enough soil, enough sunlight. Gamora was off being diplomatic or some shit, Peter didn’t know, but he’d seen her talking with Officer ( _Denarian_ now) Dey and the Nova Prime through his window one day.

Drax didn’t really have anything to offer in aid, and honestly Peter suspected that people on Xandar found him abrasive and rude – which, that was true – and Kraglin’s ship had been taken out during the fight, earning him a broken arm and rib. So Drax and Kraglin were hanging out with him in his hospital room, and three hours into his stay he still wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing. Their bickering was both a constant irritant and an endless source of amusement.

“Oh my god, Drax, you’re doing it on purpose now!” Peter snapped as Kraglin sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in a clear pout _again._

“I am doing no such thing!” Drax said, sitting forward in his seat with his fists clenched atop his massive knees. “I am merely suggesting that he would – “

“Don’t say it, ya big blue jackass!” Kraglin hissed, eyes narrowing for what felt like the hundredth time and Peter was genuinely starting to worry that they were going to stay that way.

“ – make a fine – “

Peter dropped his head into his uninjured hand, wincing as his fingers dug into the raw place on his temple that had peeled away while he was holding the stone.

“ – shieldmaiden. It’s a _compliment_ , I don’t understand – “

Kraglin shouted wordlessly in anger, jumping to his feet and pointing one long thin finger in Drax’s face, who pressed his lips together, the laughter sparkling in his eyes clear. “You very fuckin’ well _understand!_ I ain’t no woman, dammit!”

Peter peeked out from between his fingers to see Drax eyeing the slighter man up and down skeptically. “Are you sure? You people all look the same to me. It is hard to tell. You were very frightened of the Sakaarans for a male warrior.”

Kraglin was off again, flailing his arms in his anger, a deep red blush rising to his cheeks. Irritating as it was, when Drax laughed like that, deep and throaty and without any of the weight he’d carried when Peter first met him he was kind of glad for it.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!”

“I would like to see you try.”

Well.

Maybe not.

The next day when he was released there was an uncomfortable moment where Jael took him aside and clapped him on the shoulder, thanking him for saving Xandar with something suspiciously like tears in his eyes. Then someone sitting in the hospital sporting a head injury grabbed Drax’s hand and thanked him profusely, to which Drax had done nothing more than nod and Peter wondered how often he’d saved people as a warrior on his home planet to handle the teary thanks with such aplomb.

Someone even thanked _Kraglin_ , braving the Ravager’s irritated stare to give him a gentle hug, mindful of his injured ribs. It was a little girl, and Kraglin had been stiffer than a board, not saying a single word as the girl ran off into her weary parent’s arms. By the time they left the hospital both Kraglin and Peter were feeling not a little bit uncomfortable, unused to being on the receiving end of so many well-wishes. They’d spent most of their lives being wearily avoided, outright rejected with hostility, or else, you know, chased down because of bounties or someone they’d pissed off or because it was a Tuesday.

 It was… weird. Peter was better at taking it than Kraglin, hiding his discomfort under a cocky smirk.

Rocket and little Groot were waiting for them outside the hospital with the _Milano_ , and Kraglin was on the ship within seconds. They wasted no time taking off, blasting off the planet to where the _Starhawk_ and the _Eclector_ were hovering side-by-side in the black of space. Peter always breathed easier when he found himself in space, the weight on his shoulders leaving him in that split-second between when natural gravity cut out and artificial turned on.

As Xandar grew father away, however, and he was literally faced with the choice he was about to have to make, he felt heavy in the stars for the first time in his life. He hadn’t seen Yondu nor Stakar since the battle, be it because they were too busy helping with the clean-up (Stakar, likely) or because hospitals and sick people made them uncomfortable (Yondu, undoubtedly). He _had,_ however, seen Drax, and Rocket, and even once Gamora and now he was flying steadily towards a three-pronged fork in the road of his life and he had no fucking clue which way to go.

Rocket turned to him from the pilot’s seat, a wicked grin on his little fuzzy asshole face. “Where we goin’, Quill? To your daddy or your _daddy?_ ”

Peter felt heat rising in his cheeks and scowled. “You are a total asshole, did you know that?”

“I may of heard that a time or two, yeah.”

Drax leaned forward to rest one of his massive forearms on the back of Peter’s chair, and Peter knew without a doubt that whatever he said was going to be equal parts endearingly ignorant and fucking annoying. “You have two fathers, Quill? I was not aware that two men could make another man. Your people are very strange, companion.”

Peter groaned and dropped his head back onto his seat while Rocket snickered from behind one of his paws. “Just… go to the _Starhawk_ , Rocket, and keep your damn mouth shut for fifteen seconds.”

Rocket subtly adjusted their course, still snickering. “What? I think you should explain it to him. Cultural misunderstandings are hard!”

Peter could see Kraglin grinning at him out of the corner of his eye, the dick. “Rocket, I swear to fuck!”

“Who is your other father, Quill? Is it the shiny man?”

Rocket snorted in laughter, but thankfully they were pulling into Stakar’s hangar and Peter was saved the need to reply as they landed and he was able to scurry out of the ship. He abandoned the others as quickly as he could, feet taking him automatically to the bridge in a habit he was surprised he still had after all these years.

 It was weird, being on Stakar’s ship again. He’d grown up running around these halls, spent his childhood training in that gym, terrorized the crew for years in the mess hall. When he’d been on the _Eclector_ he’d always told people that he didn’t have a home growing up, but as he walked onto the bridge and saw Stakar sitting in the Captain’s chair, dirty and bloody and exhausted, he realized that, yeah, he’d always actually had a home here.

Stakar heard the door open and stood as Peter walked through, and it was almost strange the way Peter fell into his strong embrace like they’d been doing it his whole life. Then again, he thought as Stakar pushed his shoulders away and grinned at him, maybe the way they’d been living before was unnatural. Maybe this new easy warmth was how things were always meant to be. Stakar ruffled his hair affectionately and Peter couldn’t help his grin.

“I’m so damn proud of you, kid,” his dad said, and Peter had spent his entire life wanting to hear those words. He stood straighter under the praise, pleased and warm all at once because _this_ was how his life was supposed to go.

“I’m fuckin’ awesome, right?” he quipped, shit-eating grin in full swing, and Stakar laughed before guiding him over to the table so they could sit.

“How’s the clean-up going?” Peter asked once Stakar had stiffly lowered himself into the chair opposite him.

The older man let out a long breath. “It’s goin’ good, surprisingly. Mart and I have been taking turns on the ground, helping Nova gather up stray survivors and gettin’ em to safety. Don’t think these people’ve seen much death in their time, to be honest. One a the officers was with me when we uncovered a pretty fucked up scene – there were two kids, even I thought it was pretty brutal – and he just passed right the fuck out.”

Peter frowned. He’d known, objectively, that there was no possible way they’d saved everyone, but he felt his balloon deflate just a little bit thinking about those left behind. “Xandar’s a pretty peaceful place, I guess, housing the Nova headquarters and all. Fucking Ronan.”

“Yeah, it’s been a rude awakening I think,” Stakar said, leaning back in his chair and scratching absently at his nose. “Especially with Yondu’s crowd running around. I’m honestly not sure if they’re making things worse or better.”

Peter laughed, thinking about how wild they really were. “Yeah, they’re a different bunch that’s for sure. Bet their liquor stores have seen a mysteriously rapid decline in stock.”

“They’re all a bit feral. Not that we’re a bunch of tame housewives, but I guess they adapted to runnin’ on their own, huh?”

There was a weight to Stakar’s tone, now that Peter was really listening, and he wondered if it was guilt his father was feeling. “You know, Yondu turned out alright in the end.”

Stakar leveled him with a contemplative look. “Yeah, I s’pose he did at that. I don’t regret what I done, exiling him, but I will never stop feeling like I was the one what failed him in the end. I took him in, and he was my responsibility, and I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. Maybe if I’d been better... I dunno. The past is in the past I guess.”

Peter hummed, unsure what to say to that. He hoped that one day, even if he didn’t get to keep Yondu, they could bury their differences. Life was too short, and they’d all had too much shit happen in their lives to live with that kind of baggage between them.

“You know, son,” Stakar started, and Peter turned his attention back to the other man. “I dunno what you’re gonna do after this, where that wild streak is gonna take you next, but I want you to know that you’ve always got a home with me. Those strays you seem to keep pickin’ up, too, and I do mean _all_ of them.”

A warm grin pulled at the corners of Peter’s mouth, eyes crinkling at the corners with the force of it. “Thanks, dad,” he said, and his grin morphed into a knowing smirk. “I’ll let Yondu know.”

Stakar laughed and Peter grinned, and he still wasn’t sure what he was going to do but at least he knew he’d always have this.

\----

Later, Peter was standing at the observation deck, leaning on the rails and watching as Yondu’s M-Ship made its way over to the _Eclector_. He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip, torn. Of course he wanted to go to him, of course he wanted to fall into Yondu’s furs and lose themselves for a few hours, but beyond that? What was he supposed to do?

As the hangar doors on the _Eclector_ closed he let out a sigh and turned away, making his way through the ship, wandering without purpose but somehow still unsurprised when his feet took him right to the ramp on the _Milano_.

The flight was obviously short, and before long he found himself outside Yondu’s door, hesitating. Yondu had let him in before, but he hadn’t really given him a choice then. Now that the threat of death was behind them, was that soft side of Yondu still going to be there, or was it going to be back to fuck and leave? He wasn’t sure, but he’d just held the most powerful weapon in the universe in his hand and lived, and so decided as he reached up to rap his knuckles sharply on the door that this was only half as terrifying as that.

He heard a thump and a muffled curse from inside the room before the doors swished open. Yondu stared at him for a moment, head cocked, crimson eyes assessing, but after a second stood wordlessly aside so Peter could filter into the dim room.

The door shut and when Peter looked behind him Yondu was leaning against it, arms crossed, one foot propped slightly behind him. He was filthy, covered in dirt and blood, pieces of the skin on his face missing from the flesh-ripping power of the stone, staring at Peter with a silent assessing gaze and Peter had never seen anything more perfect.

Peter sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and moved so that he was crowding into Yondu’s space, one arm braced by Yondu’s head and the other trailing down to grip one of the belt loops at his hips. “Hey,” he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder he’d lose the moment.

Yondu reached up and tangled one of his hands in Peter’s hair in that way he knew Peter loved. “Hey there, idjit.”

Peter leaned down to press their foreheads together, and he didn’t miss the way Yondu let out a little breath before letting his eyes flutter closed. “We didn’t die.”

Yondu chuckled. “Told ya we wasn’t gonna kick the bucket.”

“Guess you gotta be right sometimes,” Peter quipped, silencing Yondu’s instinctive protest with a hard press of his lips.

He pulled apart a few seconds later, grimacing slightly. “You’re a fucking mess, Yondu.”

“Some of us didn’t spend a whole damn day loungin’ in bed like some goddamn princess. Some of us _worked_. _Slaved_ , really.”

Peter laughed and pushed Yondu’s dirty jacket off his shoulders before dragging him by the front of his shirt to his private shower. Yondu rarely used it, preferring to use the communal in an effort to show his crew that he didn’t think he was too good for them. Peter, however, could think of a few very good uses for it. He kissed his way down Yondu’s dirty body, breathing in the scent of sweat, dirt, engine, and _Yondu_ , peeling him out of his ruined clothes before hastily shucking his own off and turning on the shower.

Yondu quickly got with the program, stepping under the hot spray with a little hiss at how it stung his open wounds, but forgetting his pain quickly when his arms were filled with six feet of Terran. Peter kissed Yondu only once before pushing him gently back and picking up the soap. He lathered it in his hands for a second before setting to work on getting Yondu clean.

He started at Yondu’s implant, gently running his hands over the jagged skin there, forcing the man to close his eyes as he scrubbed over his head, his face, down his neck. Yondu stopped him to lean into the spray and rinse it off so he could open his eyes again, but ultimately let Peter continue with his ministrations. Peter scrubbed every inch of Yondu’s front, down his arms, his chest – pausing for a moment to urge his nipples into hard peaks – his stomach, his hard length. He knelt down at Yondu’s feet to run the soap down first one, and then the other leg, pressing a kiss to the soapy flesh of Yondu’s inner thigh on the way back up and earning himself a little hitched breath.

When Yondu was rinsed he pulled Peter down for another kiss, and Peter groaned as his rough tongue slipped between his lips to lap at his teeth. He pushed Yondu back into the wall and broke the kiss to trail his lips down the column of his throat, pausing to suck a purple bruise just below his ear, enjoying it more than he thought he would when he pulled back to look at his mark on Yondu’s flesh.

They didn’t speak as Yondu handed him a tube of lube, as Peter lifted him up, urging him to wrap one leg around his waist and drape the other over Peter’s arm. The little breathy moans Peter pulled out of Yondu as he prepped him with slick fingers echoed in the steamy room, and it wasn’t long before Peter dropped the lube and pulled Yondu’s cheeks apart, lowing him slowly onto his aching cock, pressing his head into Yondu’s chest to calm his racing breath.

“Baby,” Peter groaned as Yondu clenched down around him, paying special attention to the way Yondu’s breath hitched at the pet name. He’d never noticed before that Yondu liked it, had just assumed that he’d been tolerating it in the face of all the crazy shit that had happened.

He felt Yondu’s rough hands pulling his chin up and then there was a hot tongue in his mouth and he pushed Yondu into the wall so he could pull his hips back and snap them forward, dragging a panting moan from Yondu’s lips. Then they were lost, kissing and biting as Peter slid in and out of Yondu’s heat, aware of nothing but the connection of their bodies and Peter had never felt anything so right and perfect in his life.

Later they sprawled in Yondu’s furs, damp and clean and satiated while Peter trailed his fingers around Yondu’s bared skin. He leaned down to kiss him, lazily, noting that Yondu was already almost asleep, tired from a full forty-eight hours of fighting and cleaning up the aftermath, from their lovemaking.

“Pete,” Yondu started, voice thick with sleep, and Peter looked down into his half-lidded eyes. “Stay, huh? Stay with me.”

Peter’s heart thudded against his ribs and he let out a shaky breath, trying to hide his shocked excitement. “I ain’t going anywhere, baby. Already lost track of my clothes anyway.”

Yondu’s fingers tangled in his hair and his eyes opened a fraction wider. “No, I mean _stay_. Stay with me on the _Eclector_. I don’t – “ He paused for a shaky breath. “I dunno how to be without chu here, boy. It’s… empty, when yer gone.”

Pain laced through his chest, heart breaking, because he’d been waiting for this for his whole life and now that he had it he knew he could never take it. How was he supposed to go back to this life? He couldn’t live as he had before, couldn’t spend his days stealing and killing, couldn’t spend his life on such unequal footing with the man he loved; couldn’t ask his new family to do it, either. It would never work like that. Asking Yondu to leave everything, the life he’d worked so fucking hard for, was out of the question.

He knew in that moment what he needed to do, and it wasn’t _fair._

Peter leaned down to kiss the other man, running his fingers along that square stubbled jaw, and then pulled away to push their foreheads together. “I – Yondu, I love you _so much_ , but I can’t come back to this life now. I just - I _can’t._ ”

Yondu sighed, and Peter realized that he’d probably already known what his answer was going to be. He knew Peter better than anyone else in the galaxy, after all, knew who he was at his core. His voice was rough when he spoke. “I understand, boy, and – fuck. I love you too, so much that sometimes I feel like I’m gonna _drown_ in it. I was too scared, too stupid to say it before, but it’s true.”

Peter felt the tell-tale sting of tears behind his eyes and so he closed them to prevent an embarrassing emotional display.

“Say it again,” he choked anyway.

Yondu pushed his chin up, rubbing away the tear that had escaped despite his best efforts. “ _I love you,_ and I know I ain’t done none of this right, but I think I’ve _always_ loved you, Pete.”

Peter leaned down to press their lips together, one more tear slipping out, and then Yondu rolled them over and pushed their bodies together and Peter forgot about his troubles for a few more hours.

\---

_ Yondu  _

Yondu woke alone, sighing as he rolled over to press his face into the pillow Peter had slept on the night before. He grunted as something fell off of the top corner of it and clinked against his implant. When he pulled himself to his elbows and picked it up, a little grin pulled at the corners of his lips and he chuckled.

An hour later Yondu sat down in the captain’s chair, placing the little pink sloth at the front of his console and straightening it so that its bulbous eyes were looking out at the stars. He felt Kraglin come up behind him and rest his unbroken arm on the back of his chair.

“What’s the plan, Cap?” his first asked, and Yondu propped one leg on the arm of his chair, cracking his neck.

“Ya know, the usual. Steal shit, kill people,” he replied, and didn’t have to look to know that Kraglin was grinning at him.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

He heard Kraglin walking over to his place at navigation and grinned.

“Let’s go make some trouble, boys!”

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much as I wanted to make it happen, I couldn't see these two dumbasses dropping everything to be together at this point in their relationship. So this was kind of heartbreaking to write, but I feel like it was the most natural way for it to go.  
> Don't worry, though! I've got the first chapter of the sequel in the works.  
> I still live for your opinions, and I'm eager to see whether you agree with the way I had this go!


End file.
